


SVS-22: Fall From Grace

by alyjude_sideburns



Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Family, M/M, Post-Series, The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Grace Ellison work hard at building a new relationship until fate and a new case intervene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-22: Fall From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue for this episode is called "M is for" by Ceares and can be found at the SVS site or here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/791754

 

**Fall from Grace by Alyjude**

 

The creaking of the rocking chair was the only sound in the room. The noise was comforting to the woman in the chair, almost... symphonic.

The only light came from the neon sign across the street -- a sign that announced the best gyros in the city of Cascade. The woman kept rocking. And drinking.

The hotel room was forty-three bucks a night and contained one bed; a dresser that had seen better days -- about ten years ago; a small, round, cigarette-burned table by the only window; and of course, the rocking chair. The woman didn't think they were worth the forty-three dollars.

She glanced over at the double bed, at the two folders that sat there, accusingly. She looked back at the small table, at the bottle of gin and the glass that sat by her hand.

She was supposed to be at a meeting tonight, a meeting that had started over twenty minutes ago. About now, someone would be standing and saying, "My name is Hootchamagower, and I'm an alcoholic."

She wouldn't be saying anything there tonight.

She wouldn't be receiving her three-month chip either. Oh, well. That's life. She looked over at the manila folders again and sighed. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, taking them from Roger's desk. Revenge was supposed to be sweet, but now...

She lifted the glass and brought it to her lips -- drank slowly but with no joy. Her world now. Her world again.

Roger could go fuck himself.

\--------

Jim shifted slightly, thus allowing the body next to him to slip in closer, dipping into the groove created by his move. Sandburg gave a small huff, the air brushing the older man's skin. In the darkness, Jim beamed.

Funny, but even after all this time, the delight of having Sandburg in the same bed still brought forth the headlight-bright grin -- even in the middle of the night.

One stocky Blairleg, obviously _not_ comfortable, nudged, rooted around, pushed, shoved and finally settled on top of Jim's leg. One hand, pale in the darkness, absently stroked Jim's chest, while the owner of said hand remained sound asleep. Hair tickled Jim; breath continued to whisper softly over his skin -- and Jim felt the tensions of the evening evaporate. He let the feeling of solid muscle and soft valleys bring his eyelids to half-mast even as his mind chewed on an unanswerable question...

Why was life so simple for Sandburg, but not for Jim Ellison?

Good question. Okay, so why _was_ life so simple for Sandburg?

All right, Jim had to admit to himself that the evening hadn't been bad -- he hadn't lied to Sandburg. And yes, it _had_ been a start. In fact, truth be told, Jim had liked Grace Ellison.

Actually _liked_ her -- his own mother. But he also knew that it was _not_ Jim Ellison the _son_ who had liked Grace. No, on that point, Jim was very clear, very aware. It was Jim Ellison the cop, the regular guy, who'd liked Grace Ellison.

In a haze of contentment that had nothing to do with his brain and everything to do with his body, he tried to ponder Jim Ellison the _son_ , except...

Jim Ellison the son appeared to be on hiatus. Not to be found.

Probably hiding. Small boys could do that -- hide. When life got tough, even the toughest boys could hide. And Jim suspected that Jimmy Ellison was doing exactly that.

Blair Sandburg's alter ego, the inner child, wouldn't hide -- no sir. That little tyke would step forward, chin jutting out, short curls bouncing and he would _demand_ attention, demand an answer, demand his share of -- whatever.

Jim grinned at the thought of Little Boy Blair.

Still smiling, he placed his hand on Blair's head and began to weave his fingers through the mass of hair, avoiding the tangles, just letting his fingers tuck themselves in and pull up warm, thick curls to finger-chins.

Finger-snuggling, the world's greatest panacea.

Right, so let's say that things ultimately worked out between Jim, Jimmy and Grace. Jim would then have a father, a brother and a mother.

Blair already had a mother. Blair wanted Jim to have a mother and now he did, so should Jim give William to Blair? White teeth flashed in the night as Jim grinned. He was punch drunk, loopy. Fruit Loops.

What he needed -- was to disentangle himself from the blob, go downstairs and think _clearly_.

He began to do just that, and five long minutes later, he'd succeeded. Sweating from the exertion of moving without moving, of trying to unsnuggle from Sandburg without waking the man, Jim pulled on his robe and headed down.

He stopped in the kitchen, got a glass of ice water, then wandered into the living room, finally coming to rest in front of the big windows. His eyes took in the twinkling lights of his city, the dark water moving gracefully, a few boats bobbing on the waves. Bright, silver flashes of cars zipped by as people of the night made their way through the city, through _his_ city.

In the emptiness around him, the blackness that Jim Ellison had carried around for over thirty years resettled in his heart. He rested his forehead on the cold pane.

His mother had left him and Stephen to their father. And she didn't have to -- there were programs, she could have sought help, professional help and she could have stayed. Could have -- stayed.

Jim Ellison groaned softly in the darkness.

\--------

He felt the sun streaming in and the cold air rolling off his bare back. Ugh. Blair opened one bleary eye. He was alone.

He rolled over and opened the other eye, fumbled for the small clock, brought it to his face, peered closely, made out the hour, moaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

Seven. In the morning. A _Saturday_ morning.

Sleep beckoned, insisted, cajoled, but something was wrong. Blair was not only alone in the bed, but he was pretty damn sure he was alone in the loft. He disentangled himself from the bedding and sat up; he moved through his morning scratches, adjustments, yawns, stretching and hair pulling, then stood and padded downstairs. A brief detour to the bathroom, a flush and a hand wash, then out to the living room.

Sleepy eyes took in several things at once: the empty coffee cup on the counter, unwashed; the afghan on the couch, half on and half off; Jim's robe on the back of the sofa.

"Damn you, Ellison."

Further grumbling was stalled as a key turning in the lock was followed by the opening of the front door. A smiling Jim, wearing old, faded blue jeans and his cropped PD sweatshirt, tossed the keys on the table and asked, "Why damn me?"

Blair watched the keys strike, caught the aroma of fresh baked pastries and bagels obviously coming from the white bag in Jim's other hand, and shook his head.

"Man, you are a piece of work, Ellison."

Jim put the goody bag on the counter and took out a serving platter. He then spent two quiet, perfectionist minutes artfully arranging the bagels and buttery pastries, smiling because he _knew_ he was driving Blair crazy -- a man had to take his small pleasures when and where he could. When he finished, he held out the platter.

"Table, Sandburg, while I scramble up some eggs."

Blair didn't move, didn't extend a hand.

"Chief?"

Grudgingly, Blair took the dish and slid it on the table. His movement lacked the finesse the beautifully arranged platter deserved. Blue eyes glittered at Jim.

"Aren't you cold, Chief? Not that I don't enjoy the view, but cold is cold."

Blair's forehead wrinkled in thought as he glanced down at himself. Well, hell -- he was naked. He didn't _do_ naked. Parading around in the nude was Jim's thing, not Blair's. Not that he was _parading_. Standing, but not parading. He harrumphed loudly, turned on his heel and sauntered over to the stairs. He deliberately toned down the wiggle.

"Aw, come on, Chief. I _love_ your wiggle."

Blair flipped him the bird and kept on walking, sans all wiggling. Once out of sight, he hurried to the rack, took a pair of jeans, slipped into them and was about to zip when Jim's laughing voice floated up.

"Ooh, going commando, are we, Sandburg?"

"In your dreams, Ellison!"

He quickly stepped out of the jeans and searched for his briefs.

"We used _your_ shorts to clean up last night, Chief."

He made a beeline for the drawer, pulled out an old pair of white, thread-bare boxers, slipped them on, followed up with the denims, then took a navy blue sweater from the other drawer and pulled it on over his head.

Feet. Cold.

Back to the drawer, a pair of white socks and he was ready. He marched downstairs.

Eggs were joining the pastries, along with coffee and juice as Blair came up to the table. Jim smiled at him and commented, "Not better necessarily, but certainly warmer."

It didn't escape Blair's notice that in his short absence, Jim had not only made eggs, but the coffee cup was now on the drainer and the afghan was back in its place on the sofa.

"Sit down, take a load off and eat before the eggs get cold. Got your favorite croissant pastry, Chief. Dig in."

Blair didn't move. "What time did you leave our bed last night? Or was it early this morning?"

One eyebrow rose.

"Don't give me that _I don't know what you're talking about, Chief_ look. What time and why?"

"About three. So?"

"So, why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you were asleep?"

Blair pointed to his face and said, "Look, Jim. I'm chuckling. You're a real card, you know?"

"A man can but try, Sandburg. Now sit down and eat."

Blair sat down, but he didn't eat -- he stared.

"What? What?" Jim demanded.

"You know what. We're communicating, remember? We share stuff now, we talk now, remember? So talk already, you asshole."

"Fine. I was in bed, thinking of Grace, of our dinner, of you. I was wondering why life is so easy for you and so hard for me. I was thinking that with you in my arms, everything was too easy. So I got up and came downstairs. And I was thoroughly miserable. Satisfied now?"

Blair took it all in, digested it, nodded, then grinned and said, "Yeah, cool."

"As long as I live, I'll never understand you, Sandburg."

"It's simple -- upstairs, with me, you knew the truth, but once you left me and came downstairs, you were miserable. See?"

"You're manipulating me, aren't you?"

"Jim, puh-leeze."

Jim took his fork and scooped up a chunk of now-clotted egg and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed and stared, stared and chewed.

"Aw, come on, Jim. You liked her, the evening went pretty well, she was painfully honest, gave her version of the unvarnished truth and you admitted it was a start. But in the wee hours of the morning, doubt returned."

"Because," Jim spoke around the mouthful of egg, "I leftmd you."

"Yep. Upstairs in the security and strength of my powerful arms--"

"And snoring and drooling and twitching--"

"You were able to put the evening into perspective. But once alone down here," Blair shrugged, "the hurt kid took over."

He grabbed a strawberry-and-cream cheese danish, waved it at Jim, then added, "And I don't drool."

Jim looked away and muttered, "You _do_ drool, and there was a great deal she could have done, Chief. She didn't have to leave."

The expression in Blair's eyes softened as he gazed at the bent head. God, how he loved this man. And how much he wanted to take all the pain away, make it better for him. He reached over and took the fork from Jim's hand, then slipped his fingers between Jim's.

"I know, Jim. I know. But, man, you gotta understand that at the time, she was drowning. She looked around and found only blackness, except for maybe, one tiny sliver of light, and she went for it. She was sick, Jim. She could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, but that sickness."

"There were other lights, Chief. Other avenues. She could have stayed, could have been there..."

"Jim, think about it for a minute. Could she have? Really?"

Pain-filled eyes rose to meet Blair's as Jim asked, "What do you mean?"

Blair tightened his grip on Jim's hand and said, "Your father, Jim. Things might have, _could_ have been worse if she'd stayed. And I think, on a level she wasn't even aware of, Grace knew that."

Jim seemed to consider Blair's words, but even lost in thought, he was shaking his head. Blair waited.

"No, no. Anything would have been better than what Stevie and I had. Anything."

"Jim, you heard her. Didn't any of it ring any bells? Or are the only memories good ones?"

Jim pulled his fingers from Blair's and stood. He took his plate and carried it into the kitchen, his mind rolling back to his thoughts of the previous evening as he'd sat and listened to his mother.

As he scraped the unfinished eggs into the disposal, he said, "I remembered a few... things."

"Uh, huh. Care to share?"

Jim waved the fork he was rinsing off -- and as water speckled the wall, he said off-handedly, "Oh, just the odd time or two, you know, when one of us would be excited about something, run upstairs to share, but Mo-- _she_ would be, well,"

He seemed to be searching for the right word, so Blair chimed in with, "sick?"

"Yeah, okay -- _sick_."

"Do you remember the incident she shared last night? The locking out thing?"

Jim put the fork down and picked up the plate, stuck it under the faucet and said, "Yeah, a little."

"Jim... she hit Sally, instead of Stephen. I suspect you remember more than a _little_."

The plate dropped and shattered.

Blair was up instantly, at Jim's side, picking up the pieces, then going for the broom. He was startled to find when he came back that Jim hadn't moved an inch.

For a moment, Blair could only stare as his mind reeled. Jim was in a zone. A zone. A. Zone. "Well, I'll be damned."

Slowly, Blair moved to stand in front of Jim. He grasped Jim's jaw and tugged so that Jim's head tilted down, then said, "Jim, cut it out."

He gave the face a small shake. Nothing. Well, shit, when had he last done this, not counting the grenade and Marty? Shit, Jim hadn't zoned under conditions like these in -- months?

Blair took Jim's hand, rested his thumb just above Jim's palm, and making small, circular motions, he started to speak quietly, saying nothing in particular. A few moments later pale blue eyes blinked, and Jim was back among the cognizant.

"Hey."

"I didn't. Tell me I didn't."

"You didn't."

"Liar. I did."

Blair shrugged, his expression one of wry humor and understanding. He led Jim to the couch, got him settled, then quickly cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. When he finished, he took up residence under Jim's arm.

"You zoned."

"Yeah, thanks for the radar blip."

"Always helpful, that's me." He wiggled against Jim until the bigger man shifted over and the two of them managed to meld into each other, using the corner of the couch as their sanctuary. Once settled, Blair asked, "What triggered it?"

"You know, I heard that -- what you _didn't_ just say."

"Which was, O Great Karnac?"

"What triggered it?" Then subvoice, he added, "Like I don't know."

"Um, not bad. That _was_ what I was thinking. And for that, you get this." He punched Jim in the arm, grinning like a baboon the whole time.

"So we both know, and ow, that hurt."

"Did not. Arms of steel, that's you."

"Did too, and are you going to make me talk about it?"

"Did not, and yes."

"You just wait, I'll have a bruise, and I'm gonna show Simon."

"And Simon will buy _me_ lunch. And you _do_ remember, and you were probably very angry with her, maybe even, for a while, hated her."

"I wouldn't--"

"You _would_. You were a child, and children can hate easily and quickly. You were very protective of Stephen and even of Sally. Man, I can see it so clearly. Sally, holding and rocking little Stephen as he cried in her arms and you, standing between them and the house, alone, refusing to take comfort with Sally as you stared up at the house, a little boy, hurt, angry, mentally daring your mother to come outside, to say something, do something."

"jesus..."

Blair enfolded Jim within the security of his arms and held tight. Feeling the slight tremors coursing through the older man, he squeezed harder. "She was sick, Jim. She needed help and she wisely knew, in ways she isn't even now aware, that she wouldn't get the aid she so desperately needed at home -- with her husband and two sons. And she was afraid, afraid she'd really hurt one of you."

Minutes wore on and Blair held fast.

\--------

Blair pushed Jim ahead of him and with a smile on his face, said, "Trust me, you need this. You shower, use up every ounce of hot water and when you come out, I'll have something for lunch on the table. Now go."

He gave Jim another push, and satisfied when his partner went into the bathroom and closed the door, he turned back to the kitchen.

After a morning of more talk, a morning that was now noon, Blair knew that they both needed sustenance after the aborted breakfast. He stared at the kitchen cupboards. Soup? Simple and he didn't feel like really cooking. He took down a can of split-pea, opened it, emptied it into a small saucepan and set it on the fire. He was pretty sure there were crack-- yep, just as he thought, crackers. He took them down, set the table, added a jar of peanut butter for himself, took a couple of iced teas out of the fridge and by the time the soup was steaming, Jim was coming in, hair damp, jeans on, and a towel slung around his neck.

"You were right. Felt good. And lunch smells great."

"Split-pea soup."

They sat and dug in, Blair spreading peanut butter on his crackers, Jim breaking his into his soup. For several minutes neither spoke. Blair was very aware that Jim, as was typical when someone (even if that someone was Blair) saw too much, was now gathering himself, putting back a few walls. Protecting himself. But Sandburg wasn't worried. The walls were no longer impenetrable. Not for Blair, anyway.

Lunch was almost gone when Jim finally spoke, his words coming from left field. "What would _you_ do if your father popped up?"

At Jim's strange question, a peanut butter-covered cracker on its way to Blair's mouth dropped and sloshed into the small puddle of soup at the bottom of the bowl. "Excuse me? Is that question supposed to tie in somehow with you and your mother?"

"Yes. Just answer, Sandburg."

"You're so wrong, Jim. My sperm donor has _nothing_ to do with you and your mother. Nothing. But I'll give you this: there's a man out there who maybe did, but maybe didn't know what oat he'd sown, okay? He could be anybody so no, it's not the same thing."

"If he knew it's the same."

"You know, sometimes I really hate you."

"I'm just saying..."

"No, Jim, no. What you're trying to do is somehow pawn this off on me, so listen up and listen good. _If_ my mother knew who the father was and _if_ she told him and _if_ he skipped out on her -- his fucking loss, okay? _BUT_ if he showed up one day, if he had a history, if he'd been young, stupid, on drugs, whatever, and now -- _now_ he wanted to know his son, to be friends, wanted to _try_ , I'd say yes. Happily, I'd say yes. I'd be fucking _grateful_ , okay?"

Jim pointed a finger accusingly and said, "Ah, ha! See? Life _is_ easy for you! But not so easy for me, understand?"

Blair stared, open-mouthed, at his partner. He blinked in amazement, shook his head a bit and said, his voice dripping sarcasm, "Oh, of course. Life _couldn't_ be easy for silent, long-suffering Jim Ellison. No way." He stood and pushed his chair away, pushed it hard enough to send it skittering across the floor. Face flushed with anger, eyes squinting at Jim, Blair challenged, "I'm betting you haven't forgiven _me_ , right? Isn't this all my fault, after all? Why, I'm betting there's a whole bag full of stuff for which Jim Ellison hasn't forgiven Blair Sandburg, right?"

He was about to make a dramatic exit when the jarring ring of the phone interrupted him. He grabbed the receiver and snarled, "What?"

" _Sandburg?_ "

"Oh, uh, Simon. Yeah, me." Instantly contrite, he bit his bottom lip and added, "You want Jim?"

" _Please._ "

Without looking at him, Blair held out the phone. Jim stood, walked over and gently took the receiver. He waited a moment, but when Blair still didn't meet his eyes, he sighed and put the receiver to his ear.

"Yeah, Simon."

" _We have a body, Jim. An important body._ "

"Aren't they all?"

" _We might think so, but the Mayor has declared *this* one *more* important._ "

"Who is it?"

" _Councilman Cordell._ "

Jim gave a low whistle. "Where?"

" _His home. I need you two to roll, Jim. Sorry._ "

Jim glanced over at Blair, then back. "Yeah, no problem. Who's on the scene?"

" _Taggert and Connor. Address is 2929 West Court Drive._ "

"2929 West Court Drive, got it. We're on our way."

" _Thanks. I'll need a report ASAP._ "

"Yeah." Jim hung up and turned back to Blair. "We need to roll, Chief."

"So I gathered."

Blair started upstairs. Fifteen minutes later both men, dressed appropriately, walked out of the loft.

"It'll be faster if you go up Fifty-third."

Jim jerked the wheel sharply to the left and careened around Fifty-third.

"Right, glad you took my advice."

Jim drove on, silent, granite jaw firm.

Blair gave a disgusted snort and sank lower in his seat. He stared out the window for several seconds, trying to stay mad, trying _not_ to ask about the case, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"You gonna tell me what's going down?"

"Councilman dead. Murdered."

"Gee, thanks. So forthcoming. Dickwad."

Slowly Jim turned his head and looked at Blair. Then he smiled.

"Sorry, Chief."

"Uh, huh. Sure you are."

"No, really, I am. I'm a stubborn son of a bitch and I grovel at your feet."

"Grovel at my ass and maybe I'll forgive you. Maybe."

"Deal. Tonight, Jim Ellison grovels at the ass of Blair Sandburg."

Jim watched the corner of Blair's mouth hike its way up. Traffic moved and, as he turned his attention back to the road, he said, "I really _am_ sorry. Maybe I'm not dealing with all of this as well as I thought."

Blair rolled his eyes and said, "Ya think?"

They caught another red light. Jim turned a bit, and flicking a piece of lint from Blair's shirt, asked, "Would you really be grateful if your father showed up and wanted to suddenly _be_ a father?"

Blair watched the fussy fingers and smiled. Jim was so transparent. "Yeah, Jim. I think I would. Of course, he could turn out to be a real schlock, but yeah. I'd be... grateful."

"So, _I_ should be grateful?"

"You don't really think that _I'm_ going to tell _you_ how to feel, do you?"

"Yes. How else would I know?"

"Ah, good point. Okay, then. Yes, you should be grateful. Careful, but grateful. There, feel better now?"

Jim cuffed Blair lightly and said, "Oh, yeah, tons."

The light turned and Jim made the left onto West Court and Blair gave a low whistle.

"You didn't say it was Councilman Cordell."

"Did I need to? You know him or something?"

"Come on, Jim. We're talking Councilman Cordell, the man who tried to block Furhman Park? The man who tried to get the Woman's Health Clinic closed because the doctors there performed abortions. And the man who _did_ close down the free clinic on Patterson because they were giving condoms to thirteen-year-olds. Ring a bell now?"

"Oh, _I_ knew who he was. So how did you know this was his street?"

"He hosted a Rainier fundraiser at his home and yes, I attended. Had no choice since the anthropology department was receiving the majority of the funds. I didn't recognize the address, but now, oh yeah."

"Gotta love the politically free environment of academia and the hallowed halls of Rainier. And tell me that fundraiser wasn't one of Edwards' little soirees?"

"No, one of Sid's."

Jim slowed as they approached a large Tudor on the right; a Tudor surrounded by police cars, the coroner's wagon, and an ambulance. Jim rolled down the window and flashed his badge at the officers guarding the perimeter, then pulled in behind Connor's car. Both men climbed out and headed up to the front door.

\--------

The body was lying on the kitchen floor, surrounded by blood. As Jim and Blair walked in, guided by Connor, who'd met them in the entrance hall, Taggert stood and took a careful step back, doing his best to avoid the red tide.

"Blunt instrument, Jim. And from the massive damage, we're talking real anger."

Blair stayed back as Jim moved to the body, hitched up his jeans a bit, then squatted. He searched the area around the body as he pulled on latex gloves, then reached out and gently turned the head, or what was left of it. He winced and glanced back quickly when he heard the sharp intake of breath from Sandburg. But Blair was standing firm, a bit pale, but steady. Jim gave him a small nod of approval, then bent back to the task at hand.

Like the beacon of a lighthouse, his eyes swept the entire floor. His search was temporarily halted as something glittered at him from the baseboard against the far wall. He stood, made his way over to the object, bent down and picked it up.

"Jim? You found something?"

He turned and held up the small item. It caught in the light and shimmered between his fingers.

"Nice stone -- probably from a ring."

"Could've been there, maybe belongs to the wife," Connor suggested.

"Maybe," Jim agreed, then added, "But this floor is spotless. Just swept _and_ cleaned." He bagged it and asked, "Speaking of the wife? Other family members? Staff?"

"Jim," Blair interrupted, "I remember hearing that Cordell and his wife were separated. We can check, but I believe he has an apartment in the Livingston Building. And they have two children, both school age." He shot an apologetic glance at Connor, who was flipping through her small notebook. She closed it with a snap and a smile.

"So, what, you're saying Cordell shouldn't have been here?"

Blair shrugged. "Hey, it was his house and they were only separated. He probably came as he pleased, to see the kids, you know?"

Jim took that idea in and nodded, then addressed Joel. "Staff? The weapon?"

"No staff and no weapon -- yet."

"That's strange, isn't it?" Connor asked. "A house this size and no staff?"

Jim had turned his attention to the sink and countertops as he answered, "Saturday. In this neighborhood, staff is usually off. Wednesdays and Saturdays. Unless there's a party planned."

"Then who found the body? Who reported it?" Blair asked.

Joel cleared his throat and said, "You're not going to believe this, but the plant lady."

"The _plant_ lady?" Connor exclaimed.

"Yeah, the plant lady. She comes once a week and tends the household plants. You know, waters them, trims, cleans, the works. She has a key, lets herself in if no one's at home, does her thing, then lets herself out." He pointed to window box over the kitchen sink. "That's how she happened into the kitchen. She takes care of those too -- herbs and such."

Frowning, Jim faced Taggert. "I saw no one when we arrived. Where the hell is she?"

"She refused to stay in the house. She made her call, then met us out back. The paramedics are with her now; she was pretty hysterical."

"Connor?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take her, Jim." Megan almost tiptoed past the body, then out the back door.

"Uh, Jim?"

"Chief?"

"We should check the garage. There were no cars out front other than police vehicles."

"Good catch, Sandburg," Joel congratulated.

"You two want to take that? I'll check out the rest of the house."

"You got it, Jim. Blair?"

"Let's go, Joel."

\--------

The house had a three-car garage attached to the east side. With Joel leading the way, the two men went out through a set of French doors that exited what would be called the _sun_ room; a small, bright room just off the kitchen that Blair could see was used as a more intimate version of a dining room. Probably for the kids and family meals, he thought.

The grounds were beautifully kept, the lawn immaculate, the rose bushes carefully pruned -- the whole garden well designed. English Tudor -- English garden.

They approached the garages, and both immediately realized that of course, the doors would be electric.

"Got any ideas, Blair?"

Blair kept walking as he said, "Uh, huh. Side door."

Sure enough, a side door. An _open_ , unlocked, side door, and inside, only one car. A Lincoln Towncar -- with luggage in the backseat.

Joel tested the doors and found the car also unlocked. With gloves in place, he searched the glove compartment but found only a set of maps and registration. He checked the tags on the expensive Louis Vuitton suitcases and noted that the name was Roger Cordell. He opened one bag and nodded as he found only men's clothing inside. He took out both bags and together he and Blair made their way back to the house.

"Moving back in, you suppose, Blair?"

"Looks like, Joel, looks like."

"So where's the wife? And the kids?"

"Good question."

\--------

While Joel headed back to the house, Blair remained behind, every instinct telling him to look around. Moving cautiously to the side of the house, he spotted a fenced area with a swing set, a basketball stand, a picnic bench and a plastic playhouse. Blair went no further; he could see the top of Connor's head and knew that she was still interviewing the plant lady, so instead, he opened the fence gate and stepped into the play area.

A basketball sat on the small patch of grass and two dolls were lying on a redwood table. The ball was dirty; the dolls were not. Blair picked up one of the dolls. It wasn't damp or dusty, nor was there any other indication that it had been on the table for any length of time, like more than an hour or two? His head whipped around, eyes searching...

The small playhouse. Doors and windows closed.

Slowly, barely breathing, Blair took the few necessary steps to the house, squatted, and carefully opened the door.

She was tucked into the corner, her back to him. A little girl. Blair searched his brain for her name.

"Lynn? It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm with the police. Would you like to come out?"

She shook her head.

Blair glanced back at the redwood table, then at Lynn. "Well, I certainly understand, Lynn. But there are two very lonely dolls out here and they need you." He lowered his voice, and asked in a velvet tone, "Won't you take my hand, honey?"

Another shake of the dark curls.

"Lynn, have you ever been to Australia?"

She shook her head again.

Blair forged ahead. "But you know what an Aussie, that's what they call themselves, _Aussies_ , you know what they sound like, right?"

She nodded and for the first time, her head turned slightly, and he knew she was looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"Well, there's this cop here, her name is Megan, she's tall, like an amazon, has red hair and she's from Australia. She's fought alligators, had a pet kangaroo, and you'll love the way she talks. Did I mention that she's really tall?"

Lynn scooted all the way around and now Blair could see her tear-stained face, pale in the greyness of the playhouse. Holding his breath, Sandburg held out his hand.

She stared at it, then reached out.

\--------

Jim found nothing out of the ordinary as he moved from one room to another. Everything was tidy, clean, in its place. There was no evidence that anyone other than the plant lady had been here. No breakfast dishes, no nightclothes; the beds were made, the bathrooms spotless. He figured no one had slept in this house for at least the last twenty-four hours.

He walked downstairs, eager to catch up with Taggert and Sandburg, to find out if Connor had learned anything significant from the only witness they had. By the time he walked back into the kitchen, the coroner's people had bagged the body and were lifting it onto a stretcher. He walked past them and out the back door.

Connor was just finishing. Seated in front of her was their witness. Jim caught Connor's eyes and she nodded.

"Jim, this is Patty Summers. Miss Summers, this is Detective Ellison."

The woman turned a sheet-white face to Jim, and he was surprised to find himself looking at a teenager; Patty Summers couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen.

"Miss Summers. I'm sorry you had to be the one that found Councilman Cordell."

"Better me than the kids," she said quietly, with a small hiccup.

"Do you know--"

"She doesn't know where they are, Jim. She was dropped off, and when no one answered, she let herself in. All we've got is that Mrs. Cordell called Patty Thursday night and told her to come as usual, but that there might not be anyone home."

Patty was nodding and interjected, "I knew Timmy, that's their boy, he's twelve, would be at his friend's, doing a camp-out in the backyard, and Mrs. Cordell added that Lynn, their daughter, she's only six, would be spending Friday night with her best friend from school."

_Well, that explains a few things_ , Jim thought.

Megan put a hand on Patty's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Would you like one of our cars to take you home, Patty?"

Grey eyes roamed over the officers who were still searching the grounds and came to rest on one young, tall, dark-haired officer who was going through the hedges near the far fence.

"Could _he_ take me home, please?"

Connor followed her line of sight and bit back the grin. Teenagers.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

She caught the attention of one of the officers and whispered in his ear. He flashed a smile and nodded, then called out, "Reid, over here, pronto!"

The young officer in question trotted over, pushed back his hat and said, "Sarge?"

"Would you escort Miss Summers, here, to her home? She'll give you the address. You might want to explain to her parents."

"Yes, sir!"

Jim watched, amused, as Reid took Patty's arm and led her off. Teenagers.

As they disappeared around the corner, he looked expectantly at Connor.

"She didn't see anything, hear anything. No unusual car in the neighborhood, nothing until she walked into the kitchen."

"So we weren't lucky enough that the killer was just making his or her escape and Patty got a look at either a license plate or a flash of a face, eh?"

Megan gave him a wry smile and shook her head. "Sorry, mate, you're gonna have to solve this one the hard way."

"Ain't that always the case? Never a break for the honest and innocent."

Megan couldn't _quite_ hide the snort of derision. Jim was about to come back with one of his best when Joel, who'd just come up behind him, said, "Shit."

Both Megan and Jim looked at him, then followed his gaze -- to Blair leading a small child by the hand.

"Holy shit," Megan breathed out.

"How does he do that?" Joel asked incredulously.

Jim just shook his head.

As Blair neared the three detectives, he felt a shudder run through Lynn. He paused, lifted her effortlessly and continued on. She buried her face in his shoulder. As he came up to Megan, he tugged the small child's dress sleeve and said, "Lynn, this is Megan, our Australian exchange officer. You know, the one who had a pet kangaroo?"

Lynn slid her face along Blair's arm and peeked up at Megan, who beamed back at her.

"Hello, Lynn."

"she _is_ tall."

Blair smirked and said, "Yes, didn't I tell you so? Would you like to meet my partner? Superman?"

Green eyes widened. "superman?"

"Jim Ellison, my partner. We call him Superman, when he's out of the room. Jim, this is Lynn Cordell."

_Superman_ held out his hand, took the small one that let go of Blair's shirt and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand, smiled when she giggled, shot a dagger glance at Megan before her snort could explode, then smiled back at Lynn. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Lynn. And I'm not really Superman, just a cop."

"i knew that.  no superman suit -- no _s_."

"Dead giveaway, huh?"

She nodded.

Before anyone could say anything else, Megan asked quietly, "Lynn, I thought you were at your best friend's house today? Didn't you spend the night?"

"yes. but daddy came and picked me up, said it was time to go home. i wasn't happy, we were watching heidi!"

"Ah, so your daddy picked you up. Did you both come right home?" Megan asked.

The accent was clearly a delight to the child and she answered enthusiastically. "yes. we came home and i jumped out of the car and i had my dollies and we went and played tea party."

"And your dad?"

"he were tired. he went inside cus he had a call to make."

Jim stroked the tiny hand and asked gently, "Did you go into the house?"

She shook her head, eyes wide.

"Did your daddy come out at all? Did you see him again?"

Again she shook her head and that reminded her of something and she tilted her head up and gazed at Blair. "where is my daddy? can i see him now? he was mad so i hid, but he wasn't mad at me -- can i see him?"

Blair shot a helpless glance at Jim, who gave a slight negative movement.

"Honey, your daddy isn't here. You said he was angry? Was he angry at somebody else? Somebody here in the house?" Blair asked softly.

"i could hear them yelling."

"Is that why you hid in the playhouse?"

"yes. so mad."

Jim shared a quick look with both Connor and Taggert before asking, "Honey, did you hear a man or woman's voice with your daddy?"

Her answer was to bury her face in Blair.

"Honey?" Jim asked. Blair shook his head and Jim gave up.

"Why don't you take her inside? Maybe upstairs to her room?"

Blair nodded and carried Lynn inside through the sunroom, avoiding the kitchen.

\--------

Grace Ellison glanced down at the small yellow piece of paper in her hand, then up at the building in front of her. This was the place. She took a deep breath and went inside.

The smell hit her first. Old, rancid, decaying. She knew it well. An elevator stood across from her, but since she doubted its abilities, she searched the lobby for stairs and spotted them.

Three flights later, she stood in front of room 312. She knocked softly and immediately heard soft footsteps approach the door. A moment later, it creaked open and her friend stared at her with jaundiced eyes.

"Lisette? Are you okay?"

Lisette Cordell nodded and stepped aside, allowing Grace to enter.

When she closed the door behind her friend, she said through a thick tongue, "I've dome somethimg terrible."

\--------

"Maybe a personal phone book somewhere?"

Jim and Megan nodded at Joel's suggestion and all three moved into what appeared to be a study. They were trying desperately to find someone -- _anyone_ \-- who could take care of Lynn _and_ give them a clue as to where Mrs. Cordell might be. Not to mention the son.

They found an address book in the top drawer of the desk. Jim thumbed through it but found it remarkably light in the address department, considering that it _was_ an address book. It proved to be no help at all.

"Jim, upstairs, did you find a desk or workspace that might have been Mrs. Cordell's?"

Before he could answer, one of the uniforms stepped in. "Detective Ellison? We have a Mrs. Weston out here. She says she's a friend of the family and that the son is staying with her."

The detectives exchanged looks of relief. Two minutes later, all three were talking with a woman in her late thirties, her fashionable bob, simple but elegant jewelry and perfect _no make-up_ make-up a testament to her wealth.

"Mrs. Weston, I'm Detective Ellison; this is Detective Taggert and Inspector Connor."

The woman's eyes were searching, a worried frown playing across her features. "Where's Lynnie? They said out front that Lynnie was here? What's happened?"

"Mrs. Weston, how do you happen to be here?"

Again her eyes roamed the entrance hall. "A neighbor called. Said something had happened, that the police were here." Her voice rose dramatically, a power behind her next words that came from generations of wealth. "Where. Is. Lynnie?"

"Mrs. Weston, she's fine. She's upstairs with one our people. And Mr. Cordell--"

" _Councilman_ Cordell," Mrs. Weston supplied.

" _Councilman_ Cordell," Jim corrected, "is dead."

Mrs. Weston didn't know it yet, but she'd almost immediately gotten on Jim's bad side. At his brusque words, she paled. "Dead? Roger is dead? How? When? This is impossible. Where's Lisette?"

"Mr. Cordell was murdered, Mrs. Weston. Bludgeoned to death. And who is Lisette?"

"Mrs. Cordell. Lisette is Mrs. Cordell," Mrs. Weston whispered.

Her shock was genuine; Jim could both see and sense it. This woman had been truly surprised to hear of Cordell's death. She wasn't involved.

Megan stepped forward and addressed the woman.

"Is the boy all right? Can you take Lynn until we find Mrs. Cordell?"

Mrs. Weston lifted her face and for the first time, actually _looked_ at one of them. She nodded, words finally taken from her. Megan jerked her head up and Jim nodded. She headed upstairs to get Blair and Lynn.

His voice softer, Jim suggested quietly, "Mrs. Weston, would you join us in the living room? We could use some information, some help with this?"

Still stunned, she nodded and followed Jim across the entry hall.

Once they were all seated, Jim asked, "What can you tell us about the relations between Mr. and Mrs. Cordell?"

"They're separated. I know things escalated a few days ago and he, Roger -- God, this is so hard." She bowed her head, all pretense of power, of aloofness, evaporated.

"Take your time, Mrs. Weston."

"This is important, isn't it? I mean, it's fairly obvious that we're not talking, say, a robbery?"

"We won't know until we can talk with Mrs. Cordell, find out if anything appears to be missing, but Mr. Cordell had money in his possession, his watch--"

"Yes, of course. But you can see their lovely paintings, for instance? And -- and it's obvious, isn't it? Not a robbery."

Jim waited patiently and eventually he was rewarded.

"They separated two months ago. He moved out, has an apartment in town. But you see, a couple of days ago, things went from bad to worse."

She looked around her, at each face; read only interest and concern, no judgment, so she went on.

"He -- Roger -- came back and told her, told Lisette to leave. That she was the one with the problem and she needed help and he wasn't leaving the children with her. He threatened her with losing them... and she left."

"What problem, Mrs. Weston?" At her confused look, Jim repeated, "What problem did Mrs. Cordell have? You mentioned that he'd told his wife that she was the one with the problem?"

"Oh, yes. I, I'm not sure I should..."

"It could be very important, Mrs. Weston."

She closed her eyes and said quickly, "Lisette drinks. She drinks."

\--------

Joel tried to catch Jim's eye, but Jim seemed to be staring at nothing. So the older detective took the bull by the horns.

"Do you mean that Mrs. Cordell is an alcoholic?"

Mrs. Weston twisted the edge of her very expensive cashmere sweater and hedged. "I wouldn't say Lisette is an alcoholic, no, of course not, but she was, she did, I mean, sometimes she could drink too much, but don't we all? It isn't a crime, is it?"

Joel answered gently with, "I'd say that depends on a great many things, Mrs. Weston. Are you telling us that Mr. Cordell left his wife because she _sometimes_ drank too much?"

The twisted cashmere got a real work-out at Joel's question; Jim, who'd been immersed in his own whirling emotions, sensed her heartbeat quicken. She was about to lie.

"Look, this is all conjecture, really. I have no idea why he really left, or why he came back. I should just take Lynn and go."

"Mrs. Weston, I suspect," Jim leaned close to her, "you know a great deal about Mrs. Cordell. She _is_ an alcoholic, isn't she?"

The woman stood and straightened her slacks, then ran a hand over her perfect hair. "Like I said, conjecture. I'd like someone to bring Lynn down now."

Jim encroached on the woman's space, his expression carefully controlled, his emotions bubbling just below the surface. "A man doesn't leave because a woman _sometimes_ drinks too much. He doesn't threaten to take her rights away. Does he?"

Mrs. Weston wilted under the implacable gaze. "She was doing better, she was. She joined AA three months ago."

Jim jumped on that. "So she _is_ an alcoholic. Could they have fought over the children? Could she--"

"Jim."

One word and Jim froze. He turned slowly and locked eyes with Sandburg.

Blair had come down, leaving Megan to help Lynn put some toys together to take with her to Mrs. Weston's. He'd walked in just in time to hear the discussion on Mrs. Cordell's drinking problem and he knew it was time to help. He hoped his expression told Jim to step back, to take a few deep breaths.

A moment later, he had his answer. Jim took a literal step back. Blair figured that was both his cue and his permission. He held out his hand and said, "Mrs. Weston, I'm Blair Sandburg. I'm a consultant with the police. I found Lynn."

The woman held out her hand and the two shook, then Blair eased her back until she retook her seat on the couch.

"Lynn is fine and Inspector Connor will bring her down in a minute. Maybe you could answer a couple more questions? Like, do the children have any grandparents we should notify? Mr. Cordell's parents?"

"His parents are dead. But Lisette has a mother. She lives on the other side of the golf course. I should have realized. I need to call... or maybe, yes, maybe _you_ should call after all. She'll probably want to take Timmy and Lynn."

"We'll take care of that. You have her number? Mrs. Cordell's mother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Fine. Do you know where Mrs. Cordell might be now? Who she might be with? Or perhaps she told you where she might be staying?"

"I... I, she was staying with someone she met at her AA meetings, I know that."

Blair didn't need the sudden movement of Jim or Joel to catch the bit of information Mrs. Weston had just released. "Mrs. Weston, how do you know that she was staying with a friend from her AA meetings?"

Her eyes shifted to the right, then to the floor. Blair pushed a bit. "Mrs. Weston, you talked to Mrs. Cordell -- today? Yesterday? Yes?"

"thursday," she whispered, eyes still on the floor.

" _She_ told you about Roger's demands, didn't she? She told you that he'd forced her to leave?"

The woman nodded. "She was, you have to understand, she was _destroyed_ by all of this. She'd been fine, doing fine, honestly. Almost three months sober; and then Roger, out of the blue, demands that she leave her home, tells her he's going to divorce her immediately and that unless she cooperated, she'd never see the children again." Mrs. Weston looked at Blair, her eyes boring into his as she stated firmly and clearly, "But Lisette didn't _do_ this. She couldn't hurt him. You have to understand her. You know how people say, _She couldn't hurt a fly_? Well, that was really Lisette. She'd never hurt him, never hurt anyone."

Blair nodded sympathetically and asked, "Do you have the address of the friend Mrs. Cordell might be with?"

"No, no I don't. I don't even have a name."

Blair glanced at his partner, who nodded. "All right, Mrs. Weston. Thank you."

Joel bent over and took her arm, helping her to her feet as he told her, "We're going to need a statement, Ma'am. I'm going to take you over to one of our officers and if you'd give him your number, address, etc, we'll get in touch later. And Lynn should be down any minute."

Drained, Mrs. Weston could only nod. Joel passed her off to Sergeant Wilkins, then turned back to the living room.

When Joel returned, he found Blair standing in front of Jim, just staring up at him. Jim was gazing back, his expression more vulnerable than Joel could ever remember seeing. Pale blue eyes flicked up, caught his own brown ones and the shutter came down. Jim stepped away from Blair and addressed Joel.

"So, we have a suspect, we have motive."

"And her mother will likely know where Mrs. Cordell's staying," Joel added.

"I doubt that."

Both men looked at Blair, eyebrows rising.

"If she could confide in her mother, she'd probably be staying with her, _not_ with a friend, guys. I'm betting her mother probably won't even admit her daughter has a problem."

Joel and Jim looked at each other and shook their heads.

"He's probably right, Jim."

"I know. Disgusting, isn't it?"

" _He's_ right here, guys." Blair pointed to himself and cocked his head.

Smirking, Jim went on. "You know, if he's not careful, people are actually going to confuse him with a real cop."

"Yeah, I know, long hair or no."

Blair snorted and pushed his way between the two men. "Well, this _he's not a cop, Ellison_ guy is going back to work."

Laughing, the mood considerably lightened, Jim and Joel followed.

\--------

Lynn was delivered into the hands of Mrs. Weston, a call was made and a message left at the home of Hermione Becker, Lisette Cordell's mother, and another search was conducted, at Blair's suggestion, for possible AA material that would provide names and numbers.

At the end of an exhaustive search, they had exactly bupkis. The house was taped off, yellow streamers declaring it a crime scene; the garage had been dusted, as had Cordell's car; and his luggage had been thoroughly inspected, the results offering little in the way of help.

As Jim and Blair headed for the station and a day of work that shouldn't have been, Blair kept his gaze on his partner.

"God, I hate it when you do that, Sandburg."

"What?"

"You know. That _look_."

"For God's sake, there is _no_ look."

"Oh believe me, there is. So spill before I melt."

Blair hitched himself closer to Jim and said, "Melt? I have a look that makes you melt?"

"Sandburg, I'm warning you..."

"Okay, okay, whatever. It's just that you... lost it back there."

Jim's hands clenched the steering wheel and he nodded. "I know. I know. It was just too--"

"Coincidental."

"Yeah, to say the least."

"It's going to be okay, Jim."

"I know."

\--------

Grace Ellison watched her friend and felt real worry. This wasn't Lisette.

"Honey, come on, tell me what's going on? What did you do that was so terrible?"

"You mean besides jumping from the wagon of sobriety?"

Lisette Cordell was feeling less rubbery than when Grace had shown up, and with cognizant thought came guilt, shame, and... fear.

Grace nodded and said, "I noticed the bottles. Have you called Reggie?"

"No, I couldn't. Just couldn't."

"Lizzie, that's why he's your sponsor."

"I know, but this is -- this is beyond just going off the wagon. I've done something, Grace."

The noise of the television in the background was driving Grace crazy, and before settling down and getting to the bottom of whatever was bothering her friend, she asked, "Lizzie, may I turn off the set?"

"Oh, God, yes. I'm sorry, Grace."

"No problem, honey." Grace moved toward the set and as she reached out to hit the off button, Lisette's house popped up on the screen. Both women gasped.

Slowly Lisette stepped toward the set, her eyes riveted to the screen as Grace grabbed her hand and held tight. Both women listened.

"...are giving no details as yet, so at this time, Connie, we don't know if this was a robbery gone bad, or possibly a home invasion. We do know that both Councilman Cordell's children are fine and unharmed. The whereabouts of Mrs. Lisette Cordell are apparently unknown."

Another picture appeared in the right corner, and both women recognized Connie Braxton, the anchor for KCAS news.

"Is she a suspect, Donald?"

"It wouldn't be fair to speculate at this time, Connie. All the police are saying is that they are trying to find her. We'll keep you posted. This is Donald Laramie for KCAS News. Back to you at the station."

The picture went to a full head shot of Braxton.

"Thank you, Donald." The anchor turned to face the center camera and addressed her audience. "To update our viewers -- the body of Councilman Roger Cordell was found earlier today at his home in Glenwood Heights. The circumstances surrounding his death are unclear, and to date, the Cascade Police Department has been unable to give us much information. We'll keep you updated as more information becomes available."

She smiled, switched gears and persona, and said brightly, "When we return from break, Mark Sandoval will have the weather."

A dancing scrub brush filled the screen as both women sank to the bed.

"He's dead, Grace. Oh, God, he's dead."

Grace Ellison gazed at her friend and said, "I take it that means you didn't kill him?"

\--------

The children had been delivered into the arms of Mrs. Becker, and Blair's supposition that she would know nothing of substance regarding her daughter proved to be true. Mrs. Becker had not spoken to Lisette Cordell for over a week and knew nothing of the latest developments in her daughter's life.

Megan and Joel had taken on the task of calling Alcoholics Anonymous and getting numbers of as many meetings as possible. At two in the afternoon, they began their calls. They would also be visiting Cordell's office later.

At three, Mrs. Becker called to ask if it would be acceptable if she went to her daughter's home and picked up additional items for Timmy. She was told it would be fine. At four, she called and said that according to her grandson, at least one item _was_ missing -- his baseball bat. It had been in the kitchen, by the back door.

After receiving the information, Jim immediately called down to the morgue.

"Dan? Ellison. Have you made any preliminary guesses as to the weapon?"

" _You mean besides the traditional *blunt* instrument?_ "

"Ha, ha. Yeah. We just got word that a baseball bat was missing from the scene. Any possibility--"

" _Give me another hour and I'll have more, but for now, yeah, it's a real good possibility that a bat was the weapon. The damage is consistent with that._ "

"We'll be down in an hour."

" _Me and the body ain't going anywhere._ "

\--------

An hour later, Blair was girding his loins, or girding whatever, and getting ready to view Roger Cordell's body -- yet again.

As Dan Wolfe pulled the sheet back, Blair's first thought was, _wow, I'm getting okay with this_ and his second thought was, _how come bodies actually look worse in the morgue?_ His third thought came right on the heels of the first two: _God, I *am* going to be sick!_

He stuffed the bile down, took a deep breath and kept on looking.

"I'd say, Jim, that a baseball bat is right on the money. I found small slivers of wood buried in pieces of his hair. Serena has them now."

"What can you tell us about the blows? Could a woman have done," he indicated what was left of Cordell's head, "this?"

"Believe it or not, only three blows were delivered and all three were very powerful. In my opinion, unless the woman were some kind of athlete, like a tennis player, baseball player or something, _and_ an amazon to boot, I'd say no."

Dan aimed the light at a particularly gruesome lump and said, "See here? This is the first blow; dead-on to the face, full frontal assault. Killed him instantly, Jim. That's how hard the strike was, how much strength was behind the blow. The smashing of his face sent bone and cartilage straight into his brain. The other two blows weren't necessary."

Blair spoke for the first time. "Is it possible that this _isn't_ Cordell?"

"It's Cordell, Chief."

Blair nodded, knowing that Jim's sight had been able to see through the gore and identify Cordell.

Dan clarified his _evidence_ by adding, "The fingerprints match, and I received the dental forty minutes ago and that's a match. I'm satisfied."

"Care to give us some of your magic, Dan? Like, oh, say, size of our killer? Weight?"

"I'd say you're looking for someone who is at least six-four, and there was a great deal of weight behind the blows. Maybe two-sixty-five?"

"That will help considerably. Thanks, Dan."

The sheet was replaced and the drawer slid back into its slot. With a sigh of relief, Blair followed Jim out.

\--------

"You did all right in there, Chief."

"Yeah, didn't throw up once."

"Came close though."

"But no cee-gar!"

Jim chuckled and thumped Blair on the back, then checking that they were alone in the hall, let his hand drift down to rest momentarily on Sandburg's butt. He squeezed.

"We _are_ getting bold, Detective Ellison."

Jim grinned.

"I still have some mighty fine ass groveling to do tonight. Let's get home so I can begin."

"I love a good plan, a schedule, an agenda..."

"Sandburg? Move it."

"Right."

\--------

They stopped at the Assembly Line, an upscale salad-bar type restaurant, and went through the cafeteria with their _to-go_ boxes. Jim loaded down on pasta salads and Caesar, while Blair tried the Chinese salad, some Tabouleh, carrot salad and the tuna pasta. Both men took a baked potato each, but Jim loaded his down with chili, cheese and onions while Blair made do with sour cream and chives. Jim beat Blair out in grabbing his wallet with Blair muttering that it was his turn to pay.

"You pay next Sunday at Daryl's birthday brunch."

"Oh, sure, Jim. _I_ pay for the brunch at Seaport Landing? Let's see, this cost fifteen and brunch will cost..."

"About fifty. Seems fair to me."

"Heel."

"No, thrifty and fast on the wallet."

"Schmuck."

\--------

While Blair took the dinners into the kitchen, Jim checked the phone messages. As the first message started, he moved back toward Blair but froze when his mother's voice came on.

" _Jimmy? Oh, well, guess you're not home. Um, I was wondering, maybe, if you'd, if we, could, I don't know, maybe have breakfast tomorrow? Maybe? Damn, I hate talking to machines... well, anyway, you can reach me at 898-3737._ "

There was a pause and Jim could hear her breathing, then a sigh, then...

" _I've heard Flannigan's is good, I think you and Blair would enjoy, maybe? We can talk, and, well, you know..._ "

Another pause, then Grace spoke in a rush...

" _Call, okay? Anytime you want is fine with me, just call._ "

He checked the time and found that it had been left not long after they'd headed to Cordell's. He had a moment of thinking of his mother, waiting by the phone, all these hours...

He was about to pick up and dial the number she'd left when Megan's voice startled him. As the message started, Jim waved to Blair, who'd been watching him intently. Sandburg put down the beers and walked to his partner's side.

" _...and something interesting came up in our investigation of Cordell. You know about the renovation of the old garment district, right? How they're supposed to tear down and build affordable housing? Well, Joel and I discovered that Cordell put the kibosh on it; stalled it with the city.  We're still digging, we'll call when we have more._ "

Blair whistled low and then said, "Gee, I'm not really surprised, are you, Jim?"

Jim hit the tape again as he shook his head and said, "Not in the least. There've been rumors about that whole plan for the new housing."

Megan's voice came on again as the third message played and both men, Blair leaning into Jim, listened intently.

" _Well, you're not going to believe this, guys, and I'm sure Blair is listening, right? We found something in Cordell's office, a portfolio with the heading *City Lights* and guess what? The map just happens to include the garment district. So what *is* City Lights? A new, upscale entertainment section of town, that's what. Looks like *Councilman* Cordell just sold out his district -- we're going to be hot on Monday, mates! Have a good Sunday._ "

Jim hit stop as Blair hissed out, "That son of a bitch."

"Yeah, son of a bitch."

For a moment both men stared at the phone as they digested Megan's news. Blair was almost glad that another possible motive for Cordell's murder was in the offing. The idea that little Lynnie might have a mother in prison for killing her father -- he shuddered at the thought. And if honest with himself, he'd made a few non-professional judgments at the Cordell home, one being that Lisette Cordell was innocent of her husband's murder.

Jim reached out and picked up the phone again and Blair shook himself out of his reverie to ask, "You calling Grace?"

"Thought I would. What do you think about her offer of breakfast tomorrow?"

"You really have to ask? Although, might be better if you went alone, you know?"

"Ain't happening, Chief."

"So dial already."

While Blair went back to the kitchen for their dinners, Jim did just that.

\--------

Grace Ellison let herself into her small apartment, flicked on the light and kicked off her shoes. In her arms she held the two manila folders that Lisette had given her. She hugged them to her as she walked to her couch and sat down.

Could she have been any more paranoid as she'd driven home? Probably not. It had taken her thirty minutes to drive five miles. Talk about a circuitous route. And she still couldn't believe she'd agreed to take the folders. But what she really couldn't believe was that Lisette had stolen them from her husband. Shrinking violet Lisette, sweet mother, confused society matron, and she'd stolen from her over bearing husband.

Grace gave herself a little shake as she realized she was still gripping the folders like a lost child. She put them down, got up, walked into the small kitchenette, took a diet soda from the fridge, and after popping the top, walked back to her couch. She didn't sit down right away, choosing instead to stare at the folders.

What in God's name had possessed her to take them? And what the hell should she do with them now that she had them? The jangling of the phone brought her back to earth and she quickly silenced it by answering.

"Hello?"

" _...Mom?_ "

"Jimmy? Hello."

" _I got your message._ "

Grace found herself struck dumb. She glanced guiltily at the couch.

" _Blair and I would love to meet you tomorrow, if you still want to?_ "

Maybe if she didn't need to see him so much, and maybe if the tone of his voice didn't recapture her little boy, and maybe, just maybe if his voice wasn't telling her just how much he wanted to see her -- well, she might have told him everything, but she couldn't. Because it was all there.

Grace Ellison cleared her throat, deliberately turned from the accusing folders, and said, "Of course I still want to. How does ten-ish sound?"

\--------

Blair speared a tomato wedge and snuck a covert glance at his partner, who was smiling.

"Looking forward to seeing her tomorrow, by any chance?"

Beaming from ear to ear, Jim said, "Yeah, yeah I am. I really am." He fiddled with a few bow-tie pastas on his plate and grinned wider. "My... mom."

\--------

The dishes were cleared, the kitchen shining and spotless. Jim tossed the sponge down and turned to catch Sandburg reaching up to put the glasses away. He noted the way Blair's shirt rode up a bit, revealing the small of his delicious back. Jim couldn't help himself -- he dove in.

"AWGOD!" Blair whirled, almost knocking his beer to the floor.

Smirking, Jim straightened and said, "Hey, it was _there_. And since when did my kisses cause such a reaction?"

Color tinged his cheeks as Blair shook his head. "Sheesh, next time, warn a guy, okay? And your kisses _always_ elicit similar reactions. But let's face it -- you're not usually kissing my lower back while I'm still dressed."

"Good point. But damn, your skin is inviting and that small hollow... shit, what can I say? You move me."

Blair snagged Jim's shirt and pulled until Jim's body slammed into his; then eyes serious, he whispered, "may i move you forever."

Jim's arms went around the shorter man and just before their lips touched, he murmured back, "you will, you will."

They kissed long and deep, hands roving over muscles covered by clothes. Jim's finally ended on Blair's butt, which bought a pause to the kissing.

"Oh, yeah, Ellison, you have some ass groveling to do. May I suggest..."

Jim needed no suggestion; he grabbed Blair's hand and started for the stairs. "Major ass groveling, coming right up."

Rolling his eyes, Blair followed and muttered, "That's not all that's _coming_."

\--------

He couldn't have said what woke him, but one minute he was sound asleep, and the next both eyes were open and staring up at the skylight, while beside him, Jim slept soundly, his body curled into Blair's.

Blair knew he needn't worry; if anything out of the ordinary were wrong, Jim would be up and at 'em. But still... something _had_ awakened him.

He let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness and turned enough to look at his sleeping beauty and his heart did its usual skip a beat or two as he gazed at Jim. He was just so damn lucky, it scared him sometimes.

Blair skimmed his fingers over Jim's short hair and grinned in the night. Jim might have a thing for Blair's hair, but it was nothing compared to Blair's _thing_ for Jim's bristles. Soft, spiky in sleep and fun to stroke. As he traced a feather light pattern down Jim's temple, it hit him. What had awakened him...

Fear. Foreboding. Like quicksilver, in, then out, just barely brushing his consciousness. But enough to wake him from a sound sleep.

The fates were holding out a family to Jim Ellison -- a mother, a strengthening relationship with an estranged father and brother -- and the fates could so easily snatch it all back. Would Jim survive another disappointment of such magnitude? Blair slid his arm under Jim's sleeping body and hugged him closer.

And closer still.

No one would hurt Jim again; least of all Blair.

\--------

In a dingy motel room across town, Lisette Cordell tossed and turned in the lumpy bed. She knew the police were looking for her, that her own children needed her, but she was so afraid.

She had motive; she could have killed him, and the police were bound to believe that she had.

Ah, God. How had this all come about? Unhappiness was no excuse for drinking herself into oblivion. Disappointment with her husband, no excuse. Fear at the role she'd been assigned to play by her husband, no excuse. She was weak, weak, weak.

"NO!" her mind yelled. "You're sick, Lizzie girl, you're ill. You need help."

She was sick, yes, that was it. Oh, God, how she needed help.

Thank God for Grace. She'd convinced her to call Reggie, and they'd spent two hours together. And the bottles were gone. She was starting over,  but she was sober. For now.

One. Day. At. A. Time.

So what if the police might come knocking at her door any minute? Arrest her; take her away from all that she loved and needed.

As Lisette flipped over and tried to sleep, it never occurred to her that more than the police might be trying to find her.

\--------

Grace Ellison reached over and snapped off her bedroom light. She puffed up her pillow, then sank gratefully down into the comfort.

Tomorrow, she'd see her son again. And he was glad to be seeing her, maybe already starting to forgive.

Her son. Jimmy.

Lord, what a special boy he'd been. So quiet and serious, but surprisingly gentle.  And what a little worry-wart. She smiled at her memories; held them to her like precious jewels. They were all she had, just a few years of her babies.

And the future -- she had the future -- maybe.

\--------

Kisses.

Smiling lips on his bare back.

Blair grinned into his pillow.

"Nice way to wake up, man."

"um."

God, Jim was adding tongue. Blair arched a bit; he couldn't help it. A hand was planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

"uh, huh."

Right. Stay put. He dropped back down and let Jim do his cat thing. He loved Jim's cat thing. He thought of rising to his hands and knees and doing his dog thing, but decided that was too much trouble and he was doing just fine where he was. Oh, yeah.

Jim was up now, had reached Blair's neck, and was nipping and biting, followed by more kissing and licking. He moved around, slid his way across Blair's jaw, and Blair obligingly turned enough so that eager lips met. Tongues were exchanged, as was morning breath, and both men grinned into each other. Women would never understand men and morning breath.

Blair grinned wider and pulled at Jim's tongue, sucked harder, and was rewarded by a Jimgroan.

Two pairs of blue eyes regarded each other and Jim said, "morning."

"uh, huh."

"Smart ass."

"uh, huh." Blair pulled Jim back and turned in his arms so he was on his back, Jim above. "Very smart ass, knows what it likes. And it _loves_ Jimgroveling."

Jim stopped suckling on Blair's sexy adam's apple long enough to say, "And I'm one fine ass groveler."

"Oh, yeah."

"Want some more groveling?"

"To quote Oliver Twist, 'Please sir, I want some more.'"

"Such a polite young man."

"That's me. Now start GROVELING!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

\--------

Their breathing was returning to normal and the sweat was drying, among other things. Jim lay with his head on Blair's chest, his left hand resting possessively on Blair's right nipple. Blair's eyes were closed, but he was awake, stroking the silky bristles of Jim's head.

Eyes still closed, one hand gripping Jim's arm, Blair said, "you are one _hell_ of an ass groveler."

"You have one hell of an ass to grovel over."

"Yes, I do. But until you, it was a perfectly normal, unassuming ass. Now it's got a swelled head."

Jim lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow. "I can't believe you said that."

"Want me to suck you?"

"Such an offer for _this_ swelled head. How can I turn it down?"

"You can't."

"I won't. But give me a few, I'm not as young as I used to be -- fifteen minutes ago."

"Ah, but _I_ am. Hang on to your hat!"

\--------

Jim tapped his foot impatiently. He'd just gotten off the phone with Connor; the investigation was proceeding as planned. Detectives from the weekend shift were trying to track down other council members, but Sundays were notoriously bad days for interviews. Connor and Joel were still checking AA meetings, but so far, nothing. But he wasn't worried. Tomorrow would undoubtedly heat up as people returned from weekends away and business as usual took over. He checked his watch again and groaned, then yelled, "Sandburg! Get the lead out, we're going to be late!"

Blair came down the stairs, tucking his white undershirt into his jeans while at the same time trying to pull his green sweater over his head. Jim held his breath and forced himself to hold back, to keep from rushing forth and guarding Blair's steps. Somehow, unerringly, Blair made it down just as the sweater made its way down to settle on his hips.

"I'm ready, I'm hungry, let's go."

With a disgusted shake of his head, Jim opened the front door and waving his arm, signaled Blair to precede him.

\--------

Grace checked her watch. Nine-thirty. Tapping her foot, she said to the phone, "Come on, Lisette, pick up."

In answer, Lisette's voice came on. " _hello?_ "

"Lisette, have you thought about what I said?"

" _i need more time, please, grace._ "

Lisette's voice was small and Grace could hear the indecision and fear in it.

"This is dangerous, honey. We need to take everything to the police. My son is a detective with Major Crime, like I told you last night. He can help, Lizzy."

" _'til tomorrow, like you promised._ "

Closing her eyes, Grace sighed. Damn. She'd been hoping that in the light of day...

"All right. I promised and I'll keep it. But tomorrow, without fail."

" _all right._ "

"Lisette? Call Reggie. Now."

" _i'm on my way to a meeting now, gracie._ "

"Is that wise, honey? Let Reggie come to you today, okay?"

" _i *need* the meeting, grace. i *need* it._ "

Thinking quickly, Grace offered, "Okay, how 'bout this. You have Reggie come over now and I'll be over in a couple of hours and we'll go to his meeting at the shop, all right?"

Safety in numbers, right? She was relieved to hear Lisette answer.

" _all right._ "

"Have you called your mother? Or Holly? Talked to Timmy or Lynn?"

" _i can't right now, grace. i just can't._ "

"I understand." And she did, only too well. "I'll come by around noon or so, all right?"

" _yes. thank you, gracie._ "

"Call Reggie."

Lisette promised and the two women hung up.

Grace had planned to walk the six blocks to Flannigan's but now she'd have to take her car.

\--------

"There she is, Jim."

Jim turned and followed Blair's line of sight. Spotting his mother, he lifted his arm and waved. She paused, smiled, and waved back.

Coming up to her son, Grace looked into his eyes and said shyly, "Good morning."

Jim smiled gently and said, "Morning."

Blair watched the two and finally said with a grin, "Don't mind the short guy."

Grace immediately faced him and without a thought, gave him a hug. Surprised, he found himself returning the gesture.

Taking both men's arms, she led them into the restaurant saying, "You guys are going to love the food here."

They were seated almost immediately, a large booth in the rear. As they sat down and gave the waitress their drink orders, Grace said, "They have a wonderful breakfast buffet." She glanced at her son and gave him an uncertain smile. "They have everything."

"Sounds good to me," Jim said, returning the smile.

"It would."

Both Jim and Grace shot guilty looks at Blair, then Grace, tongue firmly planted in cheek, patted her son's hand and quipped, "But he's a growing boy, he needs his fuel."

"You got that right. And growing is _not_ something Blair is acquainted with, Gra... mom."

No one missed the sudden change in word choice. Grace blushed to her roots and, to help Jim cope, Blair jumped in. Fingering his hair, he said sarcastically, "On the contrary. Me and my hair have a growing bargain, unlike, say," he let his eyes roam the room abstractly before coming back and pointedly looking at Jim's head, "you and _your_ hair. Oh, yeah, me and growing are on a first name basis."

The next few minutes were a delight for Grace as she watched her son and his Blair trade insults and one-liners. The love was evident in every word. She sighed happily and basked in the small warmth of being even a temporary part of this morning with the two men.

Eventually decisions were made and all three opted for the buffet. Sticking together, they made their way through the various food stations. Grace chose salads and Eggs Benedict, then watched in amazement as her son piled his plate with a little of everything, including an omelet with all possible ingredients, while Blair took helpings of salad, some scrambled eggs, and then surprisingly, two waffles which he loaded down with strawberries and gobs of whipped cream. Catching her saucer-wide eyes, Jim chuckled. "Nobody said he eats healthy _all_ the time. Sandburg can pig out with the best of them."

"Thank God, I was beginning to believe he was perfect."

Blair looked up from adding one last dollop of the sweet white stuff and said, "Oh, I am. I am. But I need to make Jim feel better about himself, so every now and then--"

"You act like a jerk?" Jim supplied helpfully.

Pointing a whipped cream covered finger at Jim, Blair said, "Exactly. Don't want you getting an inferiority complex or anything."

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed the sigh of the forever tolerant as they all made their way back to the table.

The meal progressed as somehow a silent agreement was made to keep the conversation confined to easy subjects. Of the three of them, only Blair went back for seconds, and did a masterful job of ignoring the looks his partner shot at him. As he slid into his spot, his plate once again full, he quirked his eyebrow at Jim and said, "I gotta feed the hair, man."

"Hey, don't look at me. Pig out, my little oink-oink."

A grape sailed across the table and landed with a thwop against Jim's cheek. It dropped to his lap. With a smile, the man turned to Grace, and ignoring the fruit, said, "Next time, Mom, we don't let the riff-raff sit with us. Next time, they sit at the kiddie table."

Mom. The word flowed over her injured soul like a balm. Sharing a conspiratorial look with Blair, she said happily, "Oh, I don't know, I kinda like the riff-raff."

Jim sighed patiently and said, "I know, me too. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

Waving a fork piled with speared salmon, Blair mumbled through a mouthful of food, "aw, go om wid ya."

Grace and Jim burst into laughter.

\--------

The waitress had just taken the check along with Blair's card (after a battle with Jim) -- and as they enjoyed a final cup of coffee, Grace asked, "When is Stephen due back from New York?"

"Wednesday, I think."

"Do you think, I mean, maybe, all of--"

"I think dinner at our place would be a good idea. How 'bout I call him at his hotel tonight?"

With a grateful look, Grace nodded. "Would you? And dinner would be perfect."

"No problem."

As Blair sopped up some remaining strawberry juice on his waffle plate, he said, "You suppose _this_ trip of Stephen's will be a little less... active, Jim?"

"Well, New York City is probably a little shy of pigs, and he _is_ staying at the Regis."

Both men smiled, and at Grace's bewildered look, Jim said, "I promise to tell you all about Stephen's last business trip, the triplets and the pig, on Wednesday."

"You bet you will. That sounds... interesting."

Blair huffed a bit and smiling, said, "Oh, it was interesting, all right."

Grace glanced at her watch -- almost noon. She looked back up at her son and at that moment, watching him hold his coffee cup, smiling at Blair, then at her, she almost told him. Everything. But Lisette's eyes, the fear that had been swimming in their depths, held her back. A promise was a promise and Lisette had been betrayed enough to last a lifetime. She would wait until tomorrow.

Sandburg put down his now empty cup and his face lit up. "Hey, there's a new exhibition at the Natural History Museum. Maybe the three of us--"

"Chief, I don't--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've another--"

Mother and son laughed together as Blair tried to look put upon. "I take it the museum is out?"

Controlling herself, Grace nodded. "I'm afraid so. I do have a friend that I promised I'd meet." Then she glanced covertly at her son and added, "But of course, that wouldn't keep _you_ two from enjoying."

Blair snorted and said, "Right. My only chance of this happening was using you, Grace. You were my ace in the hole."

She patted Blair's hand, then grinned slyly. "Oh, I'm sure Jim would love to go," she turned to her son and added, "Right, Jim?"

Jim choked on the last of his coffee.

\--------

They stood on the sidewalk outside of Flannigan's and it was wonderfully obvious to Blair that neither Jim nor Grace wanted to say good-bye. They were standing close, her hand on Jim's arm, nodding as Jim made the plans for the dinner that would include Stephen. But finally, inevitably, they did have to say their farewells.

In a move that brought quick tears to Grace's eyes, Jim leaned down a bit and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll call when I've heard from Stephen, okay?"

"Okay. Talk soon then."

"Yes."

But neither moved. Blair held his breath and then expelled it in a whoosh when Grace hugged her son. Then she was walking to her car, waving, and a moment later had driven off.

"That went well."

"Uh, huh."

"You okay, Jim?"

"Uh, huh."

Grinning, Blair took Jim's arm and led him to the car.

\--------

"Hey, do you mind if I run some errands this afternoon?"

They'd just pulled in front of 852 and Jim, still euphoric after the successful breakfast with his mother, said, "No, not at all. Want some company?"

"Jim? Which of us enjoys watching grown men chase a small, white ball around acres of ruined nature's wonderland?"

"Um, that would be me."

"And what's on today in about," he checked his watch, "ten minutes?"

"You know, you _should_ go, do those errands. I'll stay home and... keep the homefires burning."

Shaking his head, he slid over as Jim climbed out of the truck. "You do that, Jim."

"Uh, Sandburg?"

Blair looked at Jim out the window of the now-closed truck door and said innocently, "Yeah?"

"The Volvo?"

"Gee, what about it, Jim?"

Resigned, Jim said, "Nothing, nothing at all. Go. Hurry back."

Snickering, Blair, as he shifted into drive, said, "Enjoy your golf."

\--------

Grace knocked again. Nothing.

"Lisette? Come on, honey, it's me, Grace. Open up."

Finally the lock turned and the door slowly opened.

"Lizzie? Are you all right?"

"Someone... someone was here, they tried the door. What have I done, Gracie?"

\--------

Grace threw the few items of clothing into the bag, tucked them in and zipped it up.

"Look, Lizzie, it's simple. It's not safe for you here. It was probably nothing, a drunk mistaking this room for his own, but still, you're staying with me. Then tomorrow, we go to the police."

Lisette stood quietly to the side, moving from one foot to the other, her eyes fastened on Grace and what she was doing. At Grace's words, she came to life.

"I can't do that to you, Gracie. I should never have told you."

"But you did. The milk is spilled, okay? You're coming to my place. Period. Tomorrow, we'll hit an AA meeting, then the police."

For the first time in days, Lisette Cordell smiled. "Some people would say your priorities are skewed, Grace."

Grace Ellison gave a little giggle as she regarded her friend. Shrugging, she lifted the bag from the bed, indicated Lisette's coat and purse, then said, "Hey, we'll _both_ need the comfort and security of a meeting before we face the police. Right?"

Lisette, still smiling, nodded as she slipped into her coat. "Let's go."

\--------

"Damn."

Jim looked over his shoulder at his partner, who'd just walked in. "Damn? Usually you're glad to come home. Now I'm a _damn_?"

"Damn errands. Damn useless errands. Damn bookstores."

"Ah. You struck out."

"Yes, I struck out. No books. Hector said they'd probably be in tomorrow so I get to go back. Lucky me."

Blair dropped down beside his partner and sighed heavily. A sigh designed to bring forth sympathy from said partner. It didn't work. The golf match was still on.

He sighed again.

"Sandburg, they're on eighteen. We're talking five minutes, tops. Sigh when he sinks the putt."

"Well, fuck. I'm a sports widow. With a dick."

"Chief, that would make you a sports _widower_ , you dick."

Blair smiled, looked at the screen, then Jim, then back to the screen.

"I have a nice dick."

Without taking his eyes from the television, Jim agreed, "Yes, you do."

"Not _too_ thick, just the right length, cut, a trifle needy perhaps."

The corner of Jim's mouth turned up. "A trifle needy, Chief?"

"But picky. My dick is very picky. Choosy, even," Blair said, ignoring Jim.

Pale blue eyes were turned _away_ from CBS golf.

"Choosy?"

"Very. Only one mouth has been known to satisfy my dick. Thirty years old, this dick, and still, only one mouth..."

"Would I know this mouth?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jim grinned slyly, slipped to his knees on the floor, spread Blair's thighs and reached for Sandburg's zipper. As he pulled slowly, he said huskily, "You know the problem with sports widows, Chief?"

"um, er, no -- what?"

"They don't have dicks."

The golf match was forgotten.

\--------

"So what's first on the agenda, Jim?"

Monday morning and Blair was feeling chipper. He'd been awakened by the smell of Jim's famous breakfast casserole, and while it couldn't replace a Jim in his bed, it came a close second. Now thoroughly stuffed, both men were ready for the day.

"The station -- we meet with Megan and Joel."

"City Lights."

"Yep. And you, Mr. Sandburg, are going to use your magic fingers and see what you can find on the net."

"I knew I was good for something."

Jim opened the door, patted Blair on the top of his head, and said, "Let's go, Toto."

Sandburg bit the hand that fed him.

\--------

"So how could he block it? There's been no vote of the city council."

Everyone looked at Joel, then back at the paperwork. They were all in Simon's office, crowded around the far end of the conference table, huddled over a large city planning map. At the other end, Sandburg sat hunched over his laptop, searching for more clues to the _City Lights_ project.

"Maybe a few interviews with other city council members?" Megan suggested.

Simon glanced at Jim, who shrugged. Megan slapped Joel on the back and said, "Hey, partner, you up for a few hours at City Hall?"

"No need," came the voice from the end of the table. "It's all right here; minutes of the last five meetings." Eyes glued to the screen, his right hand working the mouse, Blair said, "Apparently he stalled out the vote, claimed there was a problem with some environmental issues."

"So there _is_ going to be a vote?" Simon asked.

"Well," Blair peered at the screen, then went on, "there certainly _should_ be. But the council received a request to appear by," Blair whistled low, then added, "Gregory Walters."

"Gregory Walters?!" Both Simon and Jim exclaimed in unison.

Megan looked from one to the other, and puzzled asked, "And we should know this man?"

Blair glanced up from his laptop and said, "He owns the largest chain of movie theaters in the nation. He specializes in buying chunks of low-rent property, property usually ripe for rebirth, and with the knowledge of his successful theaters going in, gets restaurants, upscale shops etc, to rent or buy. The next thing you know, you have--"

"Something like _City Lights_ ," Jim finished for him.

"Yep."

Joel sat down heavily. "And ideas like McGrath Park go flying out the window."

Blair took off his glasses and nodded. "I'm afraid so, Joel. Affordable housing projects don't quite capture the attention of the movers and shakers like a money-making, upscale tourist attraction."

Megan, still puzzled, asked, "But the city council's vote was a done deal. How could this Walters bloke change that? The city would scream bloody murder, right?"

"And how does this translate into murder?" Simon added. "All of this information is well and good, but I don't see a motive yet. If Cordell _was_ in Walters' hip pocket..."

Joel threw in his comment. "Walters would hardly kill his passport into Cascade. So where does all this leave us?"

"Um, an interview with Walters?" Blair suggested.

Surprised, Simon said, "Walters is here, in Cascade? Now?"

"According to this news article, yes. He's here. Has been," Blair looked up, his expression one of _I told you so_ , "since Tuesday."

He waited a beat, then added, "And can anyone guess where he's been staying?"

Joel chimed in first. "My crystal ball says -- The Livingston."

Blair touched the tip of his nose, then pointed at Joel. "Got it in one."

"Well, people, you have your work cut out for you. And find Mrs. Cordell. She's still our best bet. And since I value my ass, do it today. I can duck the Mayor for a few hours, but then, my ass is grass. Go. Solve. Make me proud."

\--------

"Jim, as long as you're not tackling Walters until this afternoon, I'm gonna go pick up those books, okay? I'll bring back lunch?"

Ellison checked out Megan and Joel, listened briefly and, satisfied that they were still working on the AA element, nodded. "No problem. The great Walters has deigned to see us at two."

"Great, then I'm off."

"Aren't you going to ask what I want for lunch?"

"No, I'll surprise you."

"Sandburg, your idea of a surprise, well, you bring back any tofu disguised as a hamburger, and you'll be dead meat. And don't let that bookstore capture you so that you forget the time!"

"Tsk, tsk."

"Sandburg..."

His warning was no use. Sandburg was already gone.

\--------

Blair juggled his two packages as he tried to open the door of the Volvo. The keys slipped from his fingers and hit the gutter. With a muttered curse, Blair stooped down and fished them out of the dirty water that ran downhill. Swell.

As he stood back up, a flash of red hair across the street caught his attention. He squinted in the glare of the afternoon sun, and his eyes widened.

Grace Ellison.

He got the door opened, dumped his stuff and started to wave, to call out, but Grace wasn't alone. She was walking away from him, a smaller woman beside her.

A woman he recognized.

Lisette Cordell.

Stunned, he watched as the two women got into a car and, before he could move, yell, wave or do anything, Grace Ellison drove off with Lisette Cordell.

"Well, shit."

The problem with being stunned and surprised was that it blinded a guy. One thought, and only one, wove its way through Blair Sandburg's brain as he watched Grace Ellison and Lisette Cordell drive off: he needed to follow them.

What he _should_ have been thinking and doing was calling Jim, _and_ watching over his shoulder. But he didn't. Instead, he jumped in, started up the Volvo and drove off, completely oblivious of the dark two-door sedan that had pulled into traffic and had been forced to jam on its brakes when Blair pulled out in front of it.

\--------

Jim checked his watch again. Late. They were going to be late.

"Ellison? Not here yet?"

He glanced up into Megan's worried face and shook his head. "Nope. And no call either."

"Cell phone?"

Jim gave a disgusted look as he jerked a thumb to the corner of his desk where Blair's cell phone sat.

"Well, Joel is tracking down a couple of AA meetings that sound promising. Why don't I tag along with you to meet with Walters?"

Figuring that Blair had in fact been captured by the book store, he nodded and said, "Let's go, then."

As Jim stood and took his jacket from the coat tree, Megan advised, "And you might reconsider your thoughts of killing Sandy, although only _you_ would know _all_ the advantages of keeping him alive."

"I always knew police work wasn't your real forte, Connor. The next time you appear at the Comedy Club on Divine Street, let me know. I'll be there, with bells on."

Connor knew when to leave well enough alone. Just not with Ellison.

"And those bells would be where, exactly?" she said as they stepped into the elevator.

\--------

Joel stepped onto the sidewalk and swiped a hand over his face. Pulling healthy teeth would have been easier than getting information out of one Reginald Hooper. But at least he'd found the right meeting. He'd finally been successful in getting _Reggie_ to divulge the fact that, yes, Lisette Cordell _did_ attend meetings here in the backroom of the small cigar shop owned by Mr. Hooper. Taggert took out his cell and punched in Ellison's number.

" _Ellison._ "

"Jim, I just found the AA meeting location that Mrs. Cordell frequents. It's run by her sponsor, a Mr. Reginald Hooper. Should I hang around? The next meeting is in thirty. She might make an appearance."

" _Do that, Joel. In fact, Connor and I will be joining you. The interview with Walters was a bust. He didn't show. His assistant made noises about a last minute something-or-other. We're re-scheduled for five._ "

"Sounds good. I'm at 8382 Williams Avenue. The shop is called Stogie Heaven. It's just south of Lincoln."

" _Got it. We'll meet you in front in about twenty or so._ "

As Joel hung up, he spotted the small cafe across the street. The rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten yet today. Checking traffic, he jogged over, figuring that he could at least grab a sandwich before Jim and Connor showed up.

\--------

Why the hell hadn't he stopped them? Why hadn't he crawled out of his car like the bug he was and faced them down when they stopped at the drug store? Why had he just watched?

But of course, he knew the answer. This was Jim's mother. And she was with their number one suspect in a murder case. And yes, he knew that in spite of the fact that the killer was supposedly six-four and weighed two-sixty-five, that didn't mean Mrs. Cordell couldn't have hired someone; so for Jim and the others, she was still _it_. And Grace -- well, she couldn't, wouldn't, have anything to do with anything, right?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why did he have to leave his cell phone back at the station? Why did _he_ have to be the one to spot them?

Damn, they were slowing down. Blair checked the area he'd driven into and recognized it. He was on the south side of town. Up ahead, a small block of shops, and it appeared as though Grace was looking for a place to park.  He began to do the same.

The dark brown Impala behind him also slowed, then sped up, went around Blair and Grace, and pulled into a parking spot. Grace swung her Volkswagen into another open slot. Blair cursed, realizing that the next spot was half a block up the street. He zipped past Grace, noted that neither she nor Mrs. Cordell was moving from the car, and with a sigh of relief, pulled into the last open space.

\--------

Joel checked the time; Jim and Connor should be here shortly. He downed the last of his diet soda, dropped a few bills onto the table, then glanced over his shoulder, spotted the restroom, pushed back his chair and headed over.

\--------

Grace shut down the engine and regarded her friend. Lisette looked tense, her features pinched. Her normally pale, almost translucent skin was now sheet-white, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Lizzie, it _will_ be okay. I promise."

Without turning her head, Lisette said quietly, "You can't really promise anything, Gracie. I know that and you know that."

"I can't fight logic like that. So how's this sound -- I _know_ everything will be all right. I just _feel_ it."

A small smile touched Lisette's lips. "Oh, _that_ makes me feel _much_ better, Gracie."

"Come on, lady, let's get inside."

At that point, several things occurred at once.

Grace and Lisette got out of the car, as did three large men from the Impala. Blair was quick-walking toward Grace, just about to call out, when he noticed the three men and every alarm he possessed went off in triplicate. He started running.

The three men stepped in front of Grace and Lisette; the largest of the three spoke up.

"Ladies, if you'd be so kind as to follow us."

Grace put out her hand, rested it on Lisette's arm, and faced down the men.

"And why would we want to do that?"

"Because of this." He held open his jacket just enough so that both women could see the gun.

"Now, follow me, please."

At that moment, Blair barreled into the three men like a bowling ball. Using his shoulders, he shoved them aside and grabbed both women.

"LET'S _GO_!"

There was no time to think, no chance to get to a car, and Sandburg certainly couldn't fight off three bulldozers who looked as though they belonged on Smackdown, so he did the only thing he could, he took Grace and Lisette and ran.

Keeping the women just in front of him, pushing them along, he searched for a way out, a place to hide, to duck into...

The three men were up and, in a few seconds, after their quarry.

Across the street, Joel stepped out of the restroom and headed to the door. As he glanced out the window, he spotted what looked like an altercation on the opposite sidewalk.

An altercation that appeared to involve... Blair Sandburg.

Without hesitation, Joel rushed out in time to see Blair take off down the street, pushing two women ahead of him. And even from this distance, Joel could see that one of those women was their number one suspect in the murder of Roger Cordell.

Joel Taggert took off.

\--------

Jim turned the corner onto Williams and slammed on the brakes.

"Whoa, mate, what's u..." She didn't have to go any further; she'd spotted the Volvo.

"Well, I'll be damned." She looked at Jim and asked, "There couldn't be two such Volvos, could there?"

Without answering, Jim quickly pulled the truck parallel to the parked cars and, before Megan could blink, Jim was out of the truck.

"Uh, Jim? Ellison?"

Before taking off on a run, Jim threw over his shoulder, "They're down there, get the lead out!"

Muttering obscenities, Megan jumped out and followed.

As Jim ran, he concentrated his hearing on one thing: Blair's voice.

\--------

"Down here, quick!" Blair pushed again and the ladies turned into the alley. Blair knew the men were about a block behind them, but this alley looked good. Dark, long, and with several doors. If they were lucky, one of them would be open.

As they ran, Blair stopped every few feet, tried a door, then cursed when it failed to open. So much for that idea. They kept running.

Into a dead-end.

"Fuck!"

Blair searched frantically for a weapon, spotted an empty wine bottle and snatched it up. He shoved the two women into the dark corner on his right, smashed the bottle against the wall, and took his stance.

Pounding footsteps, heavy breathing, and seconds later, the three men ran into the alley. They paused, then started making their way cautiously down the dark corridor, spreading out, making any escape nearly impossible.

In the corner, Grace stepped in front of Lisette, her own eyes searching for something, anything, to use to protect them. She spotted a large piece of jagged wood and hefted it up. She glanced at the broken bottle in Blair's hand, compared it to the wood in hers...

Softly, she said, "blair, take this." She grabbed his hand, stuck the wood into it, and took the bottle.

Blair let the exchange happen, felt the heaviness of the wood, and nodded in satisfaction. He tossed it from hand to hand and got ready. For Grace's part, she held the bottle to her side, planning to use it in close quarters, praying it wouldn't be needed.

A deep voice penetrated the end of the alley. "There's no way out, Mrs. Cordell. We only have a few questions, need a couple of things your husband had. Help us out, and we're gone."

The three men continued their journey, closing in. They rounded the final corner and spotted Sandburg. The man in the middle, in a dark grey suit, spoke up.

"Well, well, our good samaritan. Listen, buddy," the bigger man said, "Clear out and no harm, no foul."

Blair said nothing, just stared unflinchingly. The big man's eyes searched the area, spotted the corner and said, "Mrs. Cordell? Come on out. We're not going to hurt anyone, we're businessmen."

"Strange businessmen, in my opinion. Chasing people into an alley? With guns?"

Two of the three "businessmen" turned to face the new voice. Joel Taggert stood there, gun out and trained on the back of the largest man.

"Cascade PD. I suggest you drop your weapons, then put your hands behind your head!"

The businessmen didn't like Joel's suggestion.

The guy on the right went down on one knee and fired just as the man on the left lunged to the side and also fired. Joel Taggert's reactions, honed after years on the bomb squad, were just as quick. He dove for cover but couldn't shoot, not with Blair in the line of fire.

Blair, facing down the last standing man, seeing the gun pointed at his chest, reacted instinctively; he threw the piece of wood with all his strength and followed it.

As soon as Joel caught Blair's dive for the middle guy, he opened fire on the kneeling man. Taggert's bullet caught the man high in the shoulder and he went down. The third man took a bead on Taggert, but another gun cracked in the alley and that man went down.

Joel, certain that he'd been about to bite the bullet, stood and turned.

Jim Ellison, gun still held out in front of him, was moving quickly toward him, closely followed by Megan. Joel didn't have to ask how Jim had been able to hit his target from back there, let alone in the murky light. Before he could say anything, a scream brought everyone's attention to the fight still going on.

Blair was on his back, fighting off the man in the grey suit. As large fingers closed around Sandburg's neck, Lisette Cordell screamed and Grace Ellison swooped up the piece of wood that Blair had thrown and swung it back. She brought it down hard and the man grunted and fell forward.

\--------

For several minutes, controlled chaos reigned.

A coughing, sputtering Sandburg was assisted to his feet by Taggert as Jim holstered his gun.

Grace stood protectively by Lisette, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and regret.

Back-up, as called for by Connor, arrived, along with two ambulances. The alley was soon crawling with officers and medical personnel. The three "businessmen" were attended to, their rights read and all three were bundled off, two to the hospital and one to the station.

As the alley emptied and quiet descended, six people remained.

Jim was staring at the tall, red-haired woman, his expression unreadable, his granite jaw clenching. Sandburg, still coughing, had one hand on Jim's arm, while Taggert and Connor watched, helpless and uncertain, but waiting to take their clues from Ellison.

Jim tore his eyes from his mother and turned the glacial stare to Lisette Cordell.

"You are Mrs. Cordell, aren't you?"

She stepped around Grace, chin held high. "Yes, I'm Lisette Cordell. I know I should have contacted you the moment I heard of my husband's murder, but... lately... I haven't been thinking too clearly. But I'll tell you everything I know."

Pulling slightly away from Blair, Jim jerked his head and said, "Then let's go, Mrs. Cordell."

Ignoring his mother and his partner, Jim took Mrs. Cordell's arm and led her from the alley. Grace watched her son's back, watched as he handed Lisette over to Taggert for the ride back to the station.

"Blair?"

Throat burning, Blair said with a voice filled with pain, "it'll be okay. let's go."

But he didn't believe it for a minute. He took Grace's arm, and together they left the alley.

\--------

Blair drove slowly, Grace following. His heart seemed to have moved. It no longer beat in his chest, but rather seemed to have taken up residence in his gut. Several minutes earlier, he'd finally lost sight of Jim's truck and, rather than speed up, he'd taken his foot from the accelerator.

He'd blown it. Somehow he'd blown it again.

As he crawled closer to the station, he reviewed everything that had happened that afternoon, tried to see where he could have done something differently, and suddenly he grinned. A lopsided, humorless grin, but a grin nonetheless. Because of course, what he should have done, was to _not_ have gone on that stupid errand. A couple of historical books on early police forces could have waited.

Funny how once again a dissertation had somehow gotten him into trouble. All his promises not to hurt Jim again, not to _let_ Jim _be_ hurt again -- useless.

Up ahead, the station rose above him. He checked his rear-view mirror, assured himself that Grace was still there, then pulled to the curb and parked. He got out and waited for Jim's mother. As she came up beside him, she said, "He won't understand, will he?"

"Why don't you fill me in, then let me try to talk to him?"

As they walked in, Grace told him everything.

\--------

As Taggert and Connor were about to take _Grey Suit_ into one of the interrogation rooms, Jim stopped them. Looking at the man's cuffed hands, he said, "Gee, you appear to have lost a stone from your ring. I'll see what I can do about that." Then with a grin, he let Taggert and Connor take the man away while he escorted Mrs. Cordell into Simon's office. Rafe and Brown were sent to the hospital to interview the other two _suits_.

As Lisette stepped into Simon's office, she said, "Do I need my lawyer?"

Simon exchanged glances with Jim, then answered, "Right now, we just want to ask a few questions. If you feel the need to have him present, then by all means, we'll get him here."

He held out a chair, and she gratefully took it, sinking down with a sigh. With a half-smile, she said, "He's a divorce lawyer, anyway. Probably wouldn't be able to help me here, right?"

Simon shrugged and repeated, "If you feel--"

"No, no. Let me just... talk, okay?"

"That's fine, Mrs. Cordell."

"Are my children all right?"

"They're with your mother," Jim offered.

"Good, good." She lowered her head, twisted her wedding ring a few times, then in a soft voice, she began.

"I don't know if Roger was ever a good man. I must have thought so, in the beginning. But over the years, well, Roger _wasn't_ a good man. Money, power, position all meant more to him than me or his family. I'm not making excuses for my drinking, for what I became, I'm just -- explaining."

She paused and glanced up, meeting Simon's eyes. She must have approved of what she found there, because she gave a small nod and went on.

"We separated, you know. He moved out, moved into the Livingston. I was sober. I thought, maybe, everything would work out. We'd divorce, I could be a plain old, everyday mother and he could be king of the world. But something happened. Something changed. He showed up, angry, threatening, told me _I_ had to leave, that it was _his_ home and that if I gave him any trouble, I'd never see the children."

The direction of her talk started to worry Simon and he leaned forward. "Mrs. Cordell, maybe you do need your lawyer."

She shook her head. "No, no, I didn't kill him. But you have to understand what I _did_ do. See, while I was packing, I realized I had to call people; I picked up the phone and Roger was on, he was talking and I listened... and I knew, he was doing something bad. He talked about some emails, and some letters, and he assured the man on the other end that they were safe--"

"Mrs. Cordell," Jim interrupted, "Did you catch the name of the man your husband was speaking with?"

"Yes, it was Walters. He called him _Walters_. Anyway, he assured him they were safe and I was angry and hurt and I wanted to hurt him, so when he left, after yelling that I'd better not be there when he got back, I went down to his study and I found them. The folders. And the email copies and letters inside. I... stole them. Do you see?"

She glanced from one to the other and said, "I guess, in a way, I _did_ kill him, didn't I?"

"Where are the folders now, Mrs. Cordell?" Simon asked gently.

"Right here." She pulled two folded items from her bag and handed them to Simon.

"He found someone else. Not unusual, I suppose. That's what changed. And all I wanted to do was hurt him. I can't even say that I was acting out of any nobility, or any desire to undo what he was trying to do, I just wanted to hurt him."

While Simon thumbed through the papers, Jim asked, "The woman you were with..."

"Grace. Yes. She's my only true friend. We go to the same AA meetings. Odd, isn't it? Her ex-husband has actually done business with Roger. Her family and mine were friends. Yet we meet after so many years at an AA meeting. She wanted me to come to you, to tell you, but I was so afraid, and I'd started... drinking again. I made her promise to give me until today. We were going to come in right after our meeting. We both needed the courage." Then with a hitch of her breath, Lisette Cordell looked at the man questioning her.

"You're -- I mean, of course, you said you were Detective _Ellison_... so you're..."

"Yes."

"Of course."

"One more question, Mrs. Cordell. Were you at the house the day your husband died?"

"No. I was in my motel room, drunk."

\--------

Simon watched Jim read. He'd seen Blair arrive while they'd been in the middle of their interview with Lisette Cordell, and he'd been expecting Sandburg to barge in. He'd been disappointed. Instead, Blair had led a tall redhead to Jim's desk. And there they'd both stayed while he and Jim had talked with Mrs. Cordell.

Now Blair still sat out in the bullpen. Something was wrong.

Mrs. Cordell had finished talking, telling her story, they'd asked a few more questions and then, with a nod from Jim, Simon'd had her escorted out and taken home. He'd again watched while she stopped in front of the woman at Jim's desk.  They'd hugged, and then Lisette was taken out by Detective Hogan.

"This is incredible, Simon. We have Walters cold."

"Not for murder."

"Not yet, no. But Grey Suit fits Dan's description of the man who wielded the bat and smashed in Cordell's head, _and_ we can place him in Cordell's house. He's missing a stone from his ring and I'm betting the one I found at the scene will be a perfect match. Maybe we should head down to the interrogation room, see how it's going?"

Simon stayed where he was. Jerking his head toward the bullpen, he said, "Jim, who's the lady?"

Jim followed Simon's gaze. With no emotion in his voice, he answered, "That's Grace Ellison."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Simon. Grace Ellison. My mother."

"I see." He didn't, at all, but Jim was already heading out the door.

\--------

Jim approached his mother and partner. Blair had been sitting on the edge of the desk, and as soon as Simon's door had opened, he'd jumped to his feet.

"Jim, look--"

"Not now, Sandburg. Why don't you take... Mrs. Ellison... home. We still have a lot to do here to clear this up."

He was being dismissed.

Not hardly.

As Jim started past him, Blair snagged his shirt. "Yes, Jim. _Now_."

"No, Blair," Grace pleaded, "it's all right. We can all talk later. Please."

Blair glanced from Jim to Grace, then back to Jim. In a voice still hoarse, he said, "No, we need to talk now. Do you want to do it here, Jim, or in private?"

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Jim started to speak, but Simon interrupted.

"I'll head down to interrogation one. You can have my office."

It was not a suggestion.

Jim turned on his heel and walked back to Simon's office, Blair and Grace following. As the door closed behind Grace Ellison, Blair jumped in with both feet.

"It happened too fast, Jim. I came out of the bookstore, spotted Grace and Mrs. Cordell, there was no time to call out so I followed them. I had no plan, just knew I needed to follow. There was no time to call you and I'd left my--"

"I know, you left your cell phone here. I get it, Sandburg. No time."

"Don't you dare call me _Sandburg_. I didn't know, Jim."

Grace Ellison had lived for years in the shadow of others. She'd learned early to _be_ , not to speak, to _defer_ and to beautify, not to rock the boat. But alcoholism and Alcoholics Anonymous had changed all of that. She'd become pretty good at saying what needed saying.

"We'd probably be dead now if Blair hadn't been there, hadn't instinctively followed us."

In a voice cold with anger and disappointment, Jim bit out, "Blair wouldn't have been in danger at all, nor you, if you'd told me, told us, immediately."

"I know, Jimmy. I know. But she was frightened. I made a decision, a promise. You have to understand the relationships you forge in AA, how fragile we all are. I could sense that her very sanity was on the line." She stepped into Jim's space, took his arm, shook it a bit, and pleaded, "This wasn't about _us_ , Jimmy."

"Wasn't it? I'm a cop, investigating a murder, where our number one suspect was your friend and confidante. When _did_ you know, _Mother_?"

"Only this weekend, _son_. Look, maybe you'll never understand, but are we going to be able to get past this? Does this ruin it for us? No more chances?"

The words... so similar to words spoken by...

Jim closed his eyes and groaned.

Damn it. He wasn't going to lose anyone again. He wasn't going to let his stubbornness...

He opened his eyes and stared into a pair so like his own...

"No, Mom," he said, his voice gentle and human. "We both get as many chances as we need. But do go home. We'll talk later, I promise. And Mrs. Cordell is no longer a suspect. She could probably use a friend right about now."

Something inside Grace relaxed. They _did_ still have a chance.

"I love you, Jimmy. Don't ever forget that." She leaned up and kissed Jim's cheek, then took her purse, squeezed Blair's hand, and headed out.

"You okay?" Blair asked as the elevator doors closed on Grace Ellison.

"I'm fine."

"O-kay. Are _we_ fine?"

"Like you said, it happened fast. Too fast."

"I'm so reassured."

"Look," Jim faced his partner and in a weary voice, continued, "right now we have a case to close. We can finish this at home."

\--------

The murder investigation of Councilman Roger Cordell closed with a whimper.

While Robert Woods -- Grey Suit -- was refusing to answer questions in interrogation room one, two detectives were going through his car and apartment with a search warrant and a fine tooth comb. But a comb wasn't needed to find the baseball bat. Seemed that Woods liked to keep mementos. The bat was wrapped in plastic and standing in the corner of a closet.

Once faced with the bat and the stone Jim had found, Woods cut a deal.

Jim and Taggert had the pleasure of arresting Walters while the man was in the middle of a meeting with investors for his _City Lights_ project. While the media surrounded both the Cordell home and City Hall, Jim, Connor, Taggert and Simon sat in his office, reviewing the case against Walters.

"So the conversation she overheard was--"

"Blackmail gone wrong," Jim finished for Simon. "Evidently," he went on, "Cordell started feeling a little too powerful, got a little too greedy and wanted a larger slice of the pie. With copies of the emails between the two men, plus copies of the blackmail letters written by Walters to members of the planning committee, he figured he had all the marbles."

"So Woods was sent to retrieve the paperwork," Megan added.

Joel nodded and said, "I can only imagine Cordell's face when he went for those folders and they weren't there."

"I don't think he _went_ for them," Jim interjected. "I don't think he ever knew that his wife had taken them. _That's_ why he's dead. Even faced with Woods' threats, he figured he was safe, that he was too important to Walters. He was wrong."

"Makes sense," Simon agreed. He turned to Joel and said, "Looks like that affordable housing will go through now. The vote is set for next Thursday."

"Yep, it's a done deal. The council wouldn't dare do anything else now."

"Well, people, good job. Go home, relax, we start over again tomorrow."

\--------

This relationship shit was tricky. Maybe his mother had the right idea; love 'em and leave 'em.

No. She didn't.

Blair was sitting at the table, his fingers playing with a can of soda. He didn't like soda. An unaccustomed rage swelled up and, before he could stop himself, he'd hurled the can across the room. It was empty.

He watched it clatter against the side of the television, then fall to the floor.

He stayed where he was. As far as he was concerned, that can could stay there for the rest of his life. Or until Jim came home and picked it up after taking off his jacket, hanging up his gun and grabbing a beer.

Maybe Jim would pick it up first.

Blair reached for his wallet, took out a five dollar bill, and set it on the table. He was betting Jim would spot the can first, pick it up, throw it in the recycle bin, _then_ do his usual. If he lost, Jim could have the five.

He pushed back the chair and stood up. He stretched, then wandered into the kitchen to look for something to eat. He opened the fridge, spotted the leftover spaghetti, pulled it out, grabbed the only utensil handy -- a large wooden spoon -- and took a sloppy bite.

Blair walked into the living room, spoon in mouth. He veered left, around the can, and sat down on the yellow chair, then leaned forward, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. Holding the wooden utensil up to his mouth like a microphone, he intoned, "And just to recap, the relationship between Detective James Joseph Ellison and his estranged mother, Grace Ellison, appears to be back on track. But this reporter is sad to announce that the relationship between said Detective and his partner, Blair Sandburg, appears to be floundering. _Again_."

The front door opened and Jim stepped in. He stopped, stared at Blair, spotted the can, walked over, picked it up, tossed it in the recycle bin.  Then, as he took off his jacket and hung up his gun, he said, "You are so damn dramatic."

Blair stood, took another spoonful of spaghetti, then walked over and pocketed the five dollar bill.

\--------

"Can I have some?"

Blair shoved the bowl across the table. Jim took it, picked up the spoon, and dug in.

"Not exactly what I had in mind for dinner," he said after he swallowed.

"It works for me."

Jim nodded, took another bite, then passed the bowl back to his partner.

"I'm sorry, Chief."

"Uh, huh."

"It hit me hard and I just--"

"Jumped to the usual conclusions, which entailed being betrayed, once again, by yours truly."

"Sandburg, that's not--"

"Don't use _Sandburg_. Use Chief, or Blair, or dickwad, or Harry, or anything, but right now, don't use _Sandburg_."

"Look, _Harry_ , what was I supposed to think? There you are, right in the middle of it all, my mother, Lisette Cordell, and you."

The bowl was passed back to Jim as Blair said angrily, " _This_ is what you're supposed to think. _Gee, I bet Blair was just in the right spot at the right time. Because I *know* he would have called if he could._ "

"There's just one problem with that thought, Chief."

The bowl went back to Blair.

"And that would be?"

"Even if you'd had the cell phone, you wouldn't have called."

"Damn, I hate you."

"Am I wrong, Chief?"

"no, god damn it."

"Well, here's the good news. I get it now. I know _why_ you wouldn't have called."

"You do?"

"Yes. You would have been protecting me _and_ my mother."

Blair shoved the bowl back to Jim and a smile crept up. "Yeah, yeah. Exactly. So are we okay now?"

"No, we're out of spaghetti."

\--------

The rest of the evening was better, but Blair felt the strain. Not Jim's -- his.

At the station, he'd been dismissed, told to leave, cut out of the end of the case. Because Jim had been mad. Because he wasn't real. Not a _real_ cop, not Jim's _real_ partner.

If Jim felt any of Blair's strain, he didn't show it.

They watched television.  Jim tried to reach Stephen again, finally connected, and Blair listened as Jim explained about Grace and arranged the dinner. A smiling Jim returned to the couch.

"So Stephen is all right with this?"

"Yeah, almost... excited. He sounded, well, like a kid."

Blair didn't bother to mention that Stephen didn't have the same issues as his older brother.

"Well, that's good. So Wednesday is on?"

"Yep, seems so. I'll call Mom tomorrow and let her know."

"Great."

"You ready for bed?"

"Guess so."

They closed up together, then headed upstairs.

As they both undressed, Blair waited, but Jim never once mentioned the case or its closure. Feeling somewhat leaden, he crawled under the covers. Hands behind his head, he stared up at the skylight. The bed dipped and Jim was next to him.

"How's your throat?"

"Fine."

Jim reached out and traced the bruising that only he could see. Blair didn't move.

"I'm fine, really. Sheesh."

"Sorry."

Jim lay back, his own hands behind his head. After five minutes, he reached over and turned out the light.

\--------

Jim groaned softly. He rolled over and checked the clock. It was after two. It had taken Sandburg over an hour before he'd fallen asleep. An hour of Jim trying to find the right words to say. Any words. But no words had come.

Jim lifted the covers and quietly slid out of bed. He didn't have to unwrap himself this time. He slipped on his jeans and crept downstairs.

Half way down, his legs seemed to give out and he suddenly sat.

The only vision in front of him was of Blair on the ground in that alley, Woods' hands around his neck.

He had the sudden idea of calling his mother, but Jim didn't move.

\--------

 finis


End file.
